COLLEC 


SAN 


J 


UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 
Donated  in  memory  of 

John  W.    Snvder 

by 

His   Son   and  Daughter 
' 


0 


COLLECTION 


KANSAS  POETRY. 


COMPILED   BY 


MISS  IIATTIE  IIORNER. 


WITH  INTRODUCTION  BY  MR.  GEO.  R.  PECK. 


PUBLISHED  AS  A  PREMIUM  FOR 


THE    KANSAS  JOUKNAL   OK    LITERATURE,  POLITICS,  SOCIETY   AND    ART. 

TOPEKA.  KANSAS. 
1891. 


COPYRIGHT,  itgi,  BY  HAKKV  W.  FKOST. 


INDEX  TO  AUTHORS. 


ALLERTON,  ELLEN  PALMER i 

Who  is  to  Blame? — Walls  of  Corn. —  Beautiful  Things. 

ANDERSON,  J.  W.  D 9 

Compensation.  —  Mount  of  Vision.  —  Onus  Vitse. 

BARD,  MARY  L 13 

Ease  and  Care. —  Morning  Sunlight.  —  The  New  Year. 

BARTHOLOMEW,  AMANDA  LOWMAN 17 

My  Mother. —  At  the  River.  —  Morning  Glories. 

BKAXN,  CARL 21 

To  a  Christian  Lady. —  Multum  in  Parvulo.  — To  My  Heart. 

CANFIELD,  ARTHUR  GRAVES 25 

To  Kansas.  —  My  Faith.  —  To  Death. 

CAVANESS,  A.  A.  B 29 

Memorial  Day.  —  Spring.— Love. 

ClIITTENDEN,    E.    P 33 

Selections  from   "The  Pleroma." — Who  Hath   Believed? — 
Eualgia. 

CREGO,  E.  J 39 

Faith. —  A  Coquette.  —  Destiny. 

DEWEY,  THOMAS  EMMET 43 

His  Pleading. —  Her  Answer. —  The  Rose's  Message. 


iv  INDEX   TO  AUTHORS. 

GIBSON,  AD.  II 45 

Prairie  Asters.  —  Why  Wait  ? — To  Eighty-eight  and   Eighty- 
nine. 

GILLILAND,  LILLIE  B , 47 

One  Thing  Standeth. 

GRAY,  ALLEN  D 49 

Old  Days  at  School. —  Life. — The  Voice  of  the  Time. 

GRAY,  MARY  TENNEY ^3 

Country  Children. —  Love  is  Dead. —  Dead  Leaves. 

II ARGER,  CHARLES  MORE AU 59 

Atlantis.  —  The  Sod  School  House.  —  A  Sonnet. 

HORNER,   II  ATTIE 65 

The  Great  Deliverance. —  Selections  from  "Ila." — Kansas. 

KELLAM,  LILLIE  H 64 

Cardinal  Newman. 

KNIGHT,  J.  LEE 73 

Apotheosis  Historic. —  Selections  from  "Two  Pictures." — Se 
lections  from  "Resurgam." 

KROIIN,  PHILIP Si 

Invocation  to  Sleep. —  A  Year's  Review. —  Autumn. 

LOOMIS,  MRS.  E.  S.  E ATOX 87 

A  Battle  Well  Lost. —  Via  Crucis. —  Our  Holiday. 

MARSHALL,  FRANK  A 89 

The    Motherless    Girl. —  Marble    and    Sand. —  Sweeter    and 
Dearer. 

MOODY,  JOEL 95 

John  Brown.  —  The  Patriot's  Love.  —  The  Tear. 


IXDEX   TO  AUTHORS.  V 

PATTOX,  ELLEX  ...............................  .  .    101 

The  Priest  and  Satan.  —  A  Lump  of  Clay.  —  Grapes  of  Eschol. 

PEACOCK,  THOMAS  BROWER  .......................    109 

"  It  is  I,  Be  Not  Afraid  !  "  —  Man.  —  Garden  of  the  Mind. 

PREXTIS,  Xoni.E  L  ...............................    113 

In  Life's  Afternoon. 


SlMPSOX,    WlLLIAM    IlASKELL  .....................     115 

Baby  Maraquita.  —  Triumplis.  —  Love  Renewed. 

Sxo\v,  FLORENCE  L  ..............................    1  19 

Creative  Power.  —  Acceptance.  —  Kansas  (tor  a  Picture). 

WARE,  EUGENE  F  ................................    1  23 

Quivera  —  Kansas.  —  John  Brown.  —  Selections  from  "Neutra- 


WHITE,  WILL.  A 133 

A  Twelfth  Month  Idyl. —  The  Ol'  \Vood  Pump. —  Sence  Idy  's 
Gone. 

KANSAS  SYMPOSIUM.  .  .    120 


INTRODUCTION. 

THOUGH  the  crops  of  last  year  were  not  all  that  we  wished 
in  this  region,  there  is  abundant  hope  in  the  bright  spring 
days  when  this  little  book  goes  forth  to  its  fate.  Kansas  has 
resumed  her  smile;  and  is  happy,  after  her  trustful  fashion, 
in  the  loving  promises  of  the  season.  She  has  always  had 
literary  aspirations,  and  not  a  few  of  her  citizens  believe  that 
the  new  Athens,  if  ever  a  new  one  is  builded,  will  be  some 
where  within  her  borders.  And  now,  though  unusually 
busy  with  her  plowing  and  planting,  she  will,  I  doubt  not, 
turn  aside  for  a  moment  to  receive  this  tribute  of  verse,  con 
scious  that  she  deserves  all  that  can  be  said  in  her  praise. 
Kansas  is  herself  a  poem;  a  great,  heroic,  stormy  epic,  in 
which  is  told  a  story  of  more  than  Homeric  grandeur.  And 
it  is  this  that  makes  us  most  proud  to  be  her  children.  Her 
fields  and  flocks  are  pleasant  to  look  upon,  and  her  walls  of 
corn  are  a  better  protection  to  our  people  than  gates  of  iron; 
yet  it  is  for  something  better  than  these  that  we  give  to  Kan 
sas  our  second-best  love. 

"The  light  of  high  communings  on  thee  lies." 

This  line  of  Arthur  Graves  Canfield  —  which  by  the  way 
is  one  that  Wordsworth  has  hardly  surpassed — reveals  the 
secret.  In  the  midst  of  our  town  building  and  our  railroad 
building,  our  reaping  and  our  failing  to  reap,  we  have  not 
forgotten  the  things  of  the  spirit  and  the  riches  that  dwell 
therein.  All  the  while  some  voice  has  been  singing,  not  al 
ways,  perhaps,  in  tune,  and  striving  hard  to  put  into  our  com 
mon  lives  a  cadence,  now  and  then,  of  that  harmony  which 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

fills  the  world.  Whatever  may  appear  on  the  surface,  Kan 
sas  is  as  true  as  ever  to  her  early  ideals.  Men  will  not  soon 
forget  the  days  when  she  gave  the  world  to  know  for  certain 
that  she  would  not  suffer  shackles  to  be  put  upon  her  own 
limbs  nor  on  those  of  any  human  being  upon  her  soil.  The 
very  soul  of  poetry  was  in  that  struggle;  and  it  is  not  strange 
that  from  that  day  to  this  her  people,  if  not  always  gifted 
with  "the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine,"  have  certainly  not 
been  "wanting  the  accomplishment  of  verse."  And  thus  we 
have  gone  along  building  up  a  State,  guiding  the  potential 
energies  of  a  new  civilization,  giving  the  unused  sod  to  the 
wooing  of  sun  and  cloud,  and  counting  our  gains  in  store  and 
our  gains  yet  to  be  gathered.  Of  our  material  progress,  never 
before  equaled,  the  world  has  heard  something.  We  have 
not  kept  it  secret,  nor  failed  frequently  to  remind  the  dwellers 
in  less-favored  lands  of  our  incomparable  soil,  climate  and  pro 
ductions.  But,  after  all,  ha"ve  we  not  always  understood  that 
these  are  not  the  best  nor  the  truest  rewards  ?  Have  we  not 
often  uttered  the  indignant  self-inquirv: 

"Shall  we  he  lured  by  these  things?     Are  not  we 
A  something  more  than  mouth  and  eyes  and  ears, 
To  eat  and  look  and  listen  life  away  ?  " 

It  is  only  by  asking  ourselves  these  questions,  and  by  ask 
ing  them  rigorously  and  earnestly,  that  we  can  attain  to  a 
true  view  of  life.  Whatever  is  best  in  human  nature  is  ap 
pealed  to  by  poetry.  The  sense  of  the  beautiful,  "the  joy  of 
elevated  thoughts,"  the  mysterious-  influence  of  music  which 
neither  science  nor  philosophy  can  explain,  are  in  the  truest 
sense  valuable.  It  is  not  the  possession  of  the  reasoning  fac 
ulty  that  most  distinguishes  man  from  the  brute,  but  the  pos 
session  of  the  aesthetic  sense;  and  it  is  this  that  contributes 
most  to  his  happiness.  Great  as  is  the  debt  we  owe  to  science," 
it  is  my  belief  that  the  world  could  better  spare  a  Newton,  a 
Herschel,  a  Morse  or  an  Edison,  nay,  it  could  better  give  them 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  i  x 

all  up,  than  to  have  blotted  from  its  annals  the  name  of  Will 
iam  Shakespeare.  Xor  is  it  true  that  the  world  is  outgrow 
ing  the  need  of  poetry.  On  the  contrary,  now  more  than 
ever  before  is  its  influence  useful  and  desirable.  Matthew  Ar 
nold  truly  says:  "  More  and  more  mankind  will  discover  that 
we  have  to  turn  to  poetry,  to  interpret  life  for  us,  to  console 
us,  to  sustain  us."  It  may  indeed  be  true  that  the  times  are 
not  propitious  for  the  production  of  high-grade  poetry.  The 
great  poets  who  made  the  first  half  of  the  century  illustrious 
are  gone;  Browning  is  gone;  and  the  pen  that  wrote  "In 
Memoriam"  writes  now  no  more.  And  yet,  poetry  will  not 
die,  nor  the  hunger  for  it  go  out  of  the  human  heart.  The 
fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away;  but  some  things  endure, 
because  they  are  grounded  in  the  very  souls  of  men.  We 
need  not  mourn  a  lost  art,  nor  imagine  that  no  more  songs 
will  be  sung  and  no  more  poems  be  written  because  the 
world  seems  to  be  on  its  knees  to  Mammon.  Let  us  be  pa 
tient.  Somewhere,  perhaps  even  now,  some  finely-attuned 
spirit  is  waiting  the  hour,  waiting  the  opportunity,  to  give  as 
surance  that  the  race  of  poets  is  not  extinct. 

Meanwhile,  in  keeping  alive  the  holy  fire,  Kansas  will  do 
her  share.  She  will  be  represented  on  Mount  Parnassus  as 
she  is  at  the  World's  Fair  —  by  the  voluntary  contributions 
of  her  citizens.  I  dare  say  this  little  volume  is  not  destined 
to  immortality.  But  there  is  good  poetry  in  it  —  some  very 
good,  and  some  that  is,  perhaps,  more  commendable  for  the 
spirit  that  prompted  the  author  to  write  than  for  the  manner 
in  which  the  promptings  of  the  spirit  were  executed.  It  is 
not  for  me  to  criticise,  but  to  be  thankful  that  so  good  a  col 
lection  of  Kansas  verses  has  been  made.  At  a  time  when  his 
neighbors  in  Topeka  are  giving  so  many  anxious  thoughts  to 
the  attainment  of  that  long-felt  want,  a  dam  across  the  Kaw, 
Mr.  Frost  deserves  thanks  for  perceiving  that,  whether  its  un 
stable  waters  are  brought  into  subjection  or  not,  the  public 


x  INTRODUCTION. 

will  welcome  an  offering  that  appeals  to  a  higher  instinct 
than  mere  material  profit.  Dams,  warehouses,  gristmills  and 
elevators  are  possible  everywhere,  but  who  has  heard  of  a 
Missouri  or  an  Indiana  or  a  Nebraska  volume  of  poetry  ? 
This  modest  book,  small,  shrinking  and  unpretentious,  is  an 
answer  —  a  sufficient  answer,  I  think  —  to  the  loud  and  vulgar 
clamor  of  those  who  think  that  all  the  wisdom  of  the  ages 
has  been  exhausted  in  the  making  of  what  we  call  practical 
men.  I  do  not  doubt  that  the  silver  question,  and  the  gold 
question,  and  the  tariff  question  are  important;  what  I  insist 
upon  is,  that  the  world  most  needs  men  who  feel  the  influence 
of  intangible  things,  of  thoughts,  of  sympathies,  and  of  as 
pirations  that  are  not  put  into  legislative  acts  nor  encouraged 
bv  a  vote  of  municipal  bonds.  I  shall  never  forgive  Xoble 
Prcntis  for  that  Manhattan  address,  when  he  advised  the  stu 
dents  of  the  Agricultural  College  that  it  is  more  profitable  to 
raise  onions  than  marigolds.  I  could  pardon  a  millionaire  for 
such  a  sentiment,  but  him,  whose  everv  harvest  is  one  of 
golden  flowers;  who  has  made  us  all  happy  by  showing  how 
much  more  precious  are  beautiful  thoughts  than  bank  ac 
counts;  him  I  cannot  excuse.  All  Kansas  would  applaud  a 
punishment  for  his  delinquency  that  should  condemn  him  to 
go  on  to  the  end  of  life's  afternoon  writing  poetry  —  for 
everything  he  writes  is  poetry  —  to  make  us  wiser  and  better 
and  happier.  I  have  forgotten  how  much  it  was  that  Milton 
received  for  the  copyright  of  "  Paradise  Lost,"  but,  as  everyone 
knows,  it  was  an  insignificant  sum.  And  yet  he  had  his  re 
ward.  Every  poet,  great  or  small,  who  sings  a  true  song  is 
the  beneficiary  of  his  own  effort.  When  William  Cullen 
Bryant  found  that  he  could  not  succeed  in  the  practice  of  the 
law,  destiny,  always  rich  in  compensations,  put  it  into  his 
heart  to  write  "  Thanatopsis,"  and  the  world,  as  well  as  him 
self,  was  the  richer  for  the  exchange.  This  volume,  imperfect 
of  course,  is  yet  an  effort,  a  striving,  if  I  may  use  the  word, 


INTRODUCTION'.  xi 

toward  better  things  than  those  that  habitually  engage  our 
time  and  our  interest.  It  represents  Kansas  as  truly  as  does 
the  Agricultural  Department  at  the  State  House;  perhaps 
more  truly,  for  wheat  and  corn  are  subject  to  the  vicissitudes 
of  the  seasons,  while  poetry  takes  no  heed  of  hot  south  winds, 
and  could  no  doubt  find  a  text  in  a  grasshopper  for  such  a 
reflection  as  came  to  Burns  when  he  turned  up  the  mouse  in 
her  nest  with  his  plough: 

"I  doubt  na,  whyles,  but  thou  may  thieve; 
What  then?   poor  beastie,  thou  maun  live." 

Poetry  is  wider  than  philosophy,  its  functions  higher,  and 
its  rewards  more  consolatory  and  enduring.  "Happy  is  the 
land  that  poets  love"  is  a  well-worn  saying  but  a  very  true 
one,  and  measured  by  this  test  surely  Kansas  should  be  well 
content.  Nearly  every  writer  in  this  volume  has  had  some 
thing  to  say  of  her  beauty,  her  noble  history,  her  courage, 
her  sunshine  or  her  storms.  Let  us  hope  that  the  day  will 
be  long  coming  that  shall  silence  the  praises  or  quench  the 
devotion  of  these  Kansas  singers. 

Something  I  should  like  to  say  of  music,  which  is  the  twin 
sister  of  poetry.  Only  as  it  is  musical  is  any  written  language 
poetical ;  and  it  is  true  always  of  the  greatest  of  all  arts,  that 
the  rhythm  must  be  joined  to  the  thought  in  true  and  natural 
harmony.  This  does  not  mean  that  the  words  must  be  met 
rically  arranged,  nor  that  the  lines  must  scan,  according  to. 
the  fixed  rules  of  composition;  but  music  must  be  in  them, 
must  pervade  them,  must  redeem  and  elevate  them,  or  they 
are  not  poetry.  The  Book  of  Job  is  a  poem ;  the  writings  of 
Edmund  Burke,  Milton's  great  plea  for  "The  Liberty  of 
Unlicensed  Printing"  and  much  of  the  prose  of  De  Quincey 
and  Ruskin  are,  save  only  in  name,  poems.  On  the  other 
hand,  of  course,  there  is  in  the  world  a  vast  amount  of  stuff 
which  has  only  a  sing-song  movement  to  justify  its  claim  to 
be  considered  poetry.  Perfection  in  the  poetic  art  requires 


x  i  i  IN  TROD  UCTION. 

that  the  thought  and  the  expression  of  the  thought,  the  sense 
and  the  sound,  should  be  adapted  to  each^other,  should  move 
along  together,  should  be,  in  every  line  like 

"Two  streams  that  run  with  equal  murmur  to  the  sea." 

To  what  extent  this  little  volume  conforms  to  such  a  re 
quirement  is  left  to  the  kindly  judgment  of  its  readers.  The 
poems  here  printed  are  not  the  ambitious  efforts  of  veterans 
but  the  recreations  of  amateurs.  They  have  sung  "but  as  the 
linnets  sing,"  idly  perhaps,  but  yet  not  without  hope.  It  is 
an  inspiring  sign  —  a  sign  that  life  in  these  busy  clays  has  not 
lost  all  the  value  it  once  held  —  when  men  and  women  can 
turn  from  the  wearisome  routine  which  is  their  daily  habit, 
to  the  fresher  fields,  the  fairer  landscapes,  the  slopes  and 
heights  which  only  a  few  have  the  courage  to  seek.  Let  us 
be  thankful  for  the  few. 

GEORGE   R.  PECK. 

May  4th,  1891. 


Ellen  palmer 


WHO  IS  TO  BLAME? 

Two  at  the  altar;  oh!  fair  and  sweet 

Is  the  bride,  all  in  white  from  head  to  feet. 

O'er  braids  of  gold  falls  the  filmy  veil 
Like  a  delicate  mist,  transparent,  pale. 

On  her  clear  young  brow  no  shadow  lies; 
There  is  solemn  joy  in  her  shining  eyes. 

Men  gaze  with  delight,  but  soberly  say, 
"She  will  shirk  no  sacrifice,  come  what  may. 

"She  will  pray,  poor  child,  as  the  years  go  on, 
'Nothing  for  me,  Lord,  but  all  for  John.' " 

What  of  the  bridegroom?     Firm  of  lip, 
Heavy  of  jaw,  and  sturdy  of  grip; 


KANSAS  COLLECTION, 

Black  brows  jutting,  eyes  keen  and  dark; 
"A  man,"  say  they,  "who  will  make  his  mark." 

The  years  go  on.     But  a  single  aim 
Does  life  hold  for  him:  he  toils  for  fame. 

With  strain  of  nerve  and  with  struggle  sore, — 
Debt  over  head,  and  the  wolf  at  the  door. 

For  fame  (the  laggard,  how  slow  it  comes!) 
Willing  to  burrow  in  squalid  slums  — 

To  shiver  in  attics, —  if,  by  and  by, 
He  may  fill  a  place  in  the  public  eye. 

Little  children  creep  to  his  knees, 

To  be  spurned  away.     Not  such  as  these, 

With  their  pleading  faces  and  voices  sweet, 
Must  bar  his  pathway  or  clog  his  feet. 

And  the  wife?      The  soft,  sweet  eyes  grow  dim, 
While  he  toils  for  fame,  and  she  —  for  him. 

For  him,  and  for  his:  small,  winsome  things 
With  soft  white  fingers  and  silken  strings, 

Pull  her,  and  rule  her,  and  hold  her  in  thrall  — • 
A  willing  slave  —  at  their  beck  and  call. 

She  loves  her  children,  she  worships  John', 
For  these  gives  all.      Is  it  wisely  done? 


ELLEN  PALMER   ALLERTON. 

Gone  is  her  beauty.     The  locks  of  gold, 
Faded  and  lusterless,  thinly  fold 

Over  a  forehead  all  seamed  with  care; 

Her  face,  once  rounded,  and  smooth,  and  fair, 

Is  pinched  and  hollow,  and  worn  and  thin, 
And  the  dimples  are  gone  from  cheek  and  chin. 

What  has  she  learned,  these  dark  years  through? 
Bearing  a  load  that  was  meant  for  two. 

lias  her  mind  grown  broad  and  her  vision  wide? 
Is  the  woman  wiser  than  was  the  bride? 

This  she  has  learned,  and  but  little  more, 
Save  household  tasks,  wrought  o'er  and  o'er: 

She  has  learned  that  girlhood's  hopes  are  dust; 
She  has  learned  the  taste  of  poverty's  crust. 

The  years  go  on,  and  there  comes  a  day 

When  the  struggling  student  is  crown'd  with  bay; 

When  gracious  Fortune  —  so  niggard  before  — 
Lauds  him  with  honors,  and  gold  in  store. 

On  far-blowing  winds,  over  ocean's  tide, 
The  name  of  a  genius  is  wafted  wide. 

It  is  his;  and  the  heart  of  the  wife  beats  fast 
With  pride  and  joy — "lie  has  won  at  last!" 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

[oy  soon  to  perish.     A  sickening  fear 

Lays  its  clutch  on  her  heart.     She  sheds  no  tear, 

But  waits  and  watches.     Oh,  sorrowful  fate! 
Worse  than  the  crust  or  the  empty  grate. 

She  has  learned  at  last  all  the  bitter  truth  — 
This  woman,  robbed  of  beauty  and  youth  — 

More  wretched,  poor  soul,  in  her  mansion  fair, 
Than  ever  in  attic  with  rafters  bare. 

Want  she  has  known,  with  hunger  and  cold, 
But  these  were  as  naught  to  the  pangs  untold  — 

The  billows  of  pain  that  her  bosom  stir, 
Since  John  —  her  John  —  is  ashamed  of  her. 

He  wears  —  at  what  cost!  —  his  wreath  of  fame. 
A  wrong  has  been  done  here.     Wrho  is  to  blame  ? 


WALLS   OF   CORN. 

Smiling  and  beautiful,  heaven's  dome 
Bends  softly  over  our  prairie  home. 

But  the  wide,  wide  lands,  that  stretched  away 
Before  my  eyes  in  the  days  of  May, 

The  rolling  prairie's  billowy  swell, 
Breezy  upland  and  the  timbered  dell, 


ELLEN  PALMER  ALLERTON, 

Stately  mansion  and  hut  forlorn, 
All  are  hidden  by  walls  of  corn. 

All  the  wide  world  is  narrowed  down 
To  walls  of  corn,  now  sere  and  brown. 

What  do  they  hold,  these  walls  of  corn, 
Whose  banners  toss  on  the  breeze  of  morn  ? 

He  who  questions  may  soon  be  told: 

A  great  State's  wealth  these  walls  enfold. 

No  sentinels  guard  these  walls  of  corn, 
Never  is  sounded  the  warder's  horn, 

Yet  the  pillars  are  hung  with  gleaming  gold 
Left  all  unbarred,  tho'  thieves  are  bold. 

Clothes  and  food  for  the  toiling  poor, 
Wealth  to  heap  at  the  rich  man's  door; 

Meat  for  the  healthy,  and  balm  for  him 
Who  moans  and  tosses  in  chamber  dim; 

Shoes  for  the  barefooted ;  pearls  to  twine 
In  the  scented  tresses  of  ladies  fine; 

Things  of  use  for  the  lowly  cot, 

Where  (bless  the  corn  !)  want  cometh  not; 

Luxuries  rare  for  the  mansion  grand, 
Gifts  of  a  rich  and  fertile  land  — 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

All  these  things,  and  so  many  more 
It  would  fill  a  book  to  name  them  o'er, 

Are  hid  and  held  in  these  walls  of  corn, 
Whose  banners  toss  on  the  breeze  of  morn. 

Where  do  they  stand,  these  walls  of  corn, 
Whose  banners  toss  on  the  breeze  of  morn  ? 

Open  the  atlas,  conned  by  rule, 

In  the  olden  days  of  the  district  school: 

Point  to  the  rich  and  bounteous  land 
That  yields  such  fruit  to  the  toiler's  hand. 

"Treeless  desert"  they  called  it  then, 
Haunted  by  beasts  and  forsook  by  men. 

Little  they  knew  what  wealth   untold 
Lay  hid  where  the  desolate  prairies  rolled. 

Who  would  have  dared,  with  brush  or  pen. 
As  this  land  is  now,  to  paint  it  then  ? 

And  how  would  the  wise  ones  have  laughed  in  scorn. 
Had  prophet  foretold  these  walls  of  corn, 
Whose  banners  toss  in  the  breeze  of  morn  ! 


ELLEN  PALMER  ALLER  TON. 


BEAUTIFUL    THINGS. 

BEAUTIFUL  faces  are  those  that  wear  — 
It  matters  little  if  dark  or  fair — 
Whole-souled  honesty  printed  there. 

Beautiful  eyes  are  those  that  show, 

Like  crystal  panes  where  hearth-fires  glow, 

Beautiful  thoughts  that  burn  below. 

Beautiful  lips  are  those  whose  words 
Leap  from  the  heart,  like  songs  of  birds, 
Yet  whose  utterance  prudence  girds. 

Beautiful  hands  are  those  that  do 

Work  that  is  earnest  and  brave  and  true, 

Moment  by  moment,  the  long  day  through. 

Beautiful  feet  are  those  that  go 
On  kindly  ministries,  to  and  fro  — 
Down  lowliest  ways,  if  God  wills  it  so. 

Beautiful  shoulders  are  those  that  bear 

Ceaseless  burdens  of  homely  care 

With  patient  grace,  and  with  daily  prayer. 

Beautiful  lives  are  those  that  bless  — 

vSilent  river*  of  happiness, 

Whose  hidden  fountain  but  few  may  guess. 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Beautiful  twilight,  at  set  of  sun; 
Beautiful  goal,  with  race  well  won; 
Beautiful  rest,  with  work  well  done. 

Beautiful  graves,  where  grasses  creep, 

Where  brown  leaves  fall,  where  drifts  lie  deep, 

Over  worn  out  hands  —  oh,  beautiful  sleep  ! 


BUT  words  are  flames;  once  given  vent  and  space, 

The  fiery  tide  fast  overleaps  its  shore, 
And  seldom  ebbs  again  into  its  place. 

—  A  Her  ton. 


WHO  builds  above  the  clouds  must  dwell  alone; 
I  count  good  fellowship  above  a  throne. 

— Allerton. 


.  09.  D.  (^Anderson. 


COMPENSATION. 


WITH  weary  feet  the  prophet  climbs  the  hill 

O'erlooking  the  fair  land  of  Palestine. 
His  eyes,  unsatisfied,  feast  on  each  rill 

Or  fertile  plain,  or  palm  tree's  silvery  sheen, 
lie  may  not  enter,  though  his  inmost  soul 

Perish  with  longing  for  the  promised  land; 
The  beauteous  vision  fades,  as  o'er  him  roll 

The  burial  clods,  piled  by  Jehovah's  hand. 

For  fifteen  centuries  Judea  lay, 

Her  thousand  hilltops  glistening  in  the  sun, 
Until  Mount  Sinai's  scepter  passed  away 

And  Bethlehem's  star  proclaimed  all  nations  one. 
Now,  on  Mount  Hermon's  brow,  a  group  we  see 

With  garments  whiter  than  the  driven  snow, 
And  Moses  walks,  with  step  untrammeled,  free, 

The  land  at  which  he  gazed  so  long  ago. 

(9) 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Blest  consummation  !     So  to  all  will  come 

The  answer  to  the  longings  of  the  heart- 
Peace  for  our  strivings,  speech  for  lips  now  dumb, 

And  tears  of  joy  for  tears  of  pain  that  start; 
If  not  in  this  life,  then  in  life  eternal; 

If  not  in  this  world,  then  on  heavenly  shore; 
Our  spirits  cannot  miss  the  bliss  supernal; 

God  lives,  is  just,  and  will  be  evermore. 


'THE   MOUNT  OF   VISION. 

CClass  Poem.     Class  of  '8g,  Baker  University.) 


BEFORE  us  loomed  the  towering  Mount  of  Vision; 

We  stood  together  at  the  very  base, 
And,  looking  upward,  made  the  firm  decision 

We'd  test  the  rough  ascent  with  even  pace. 
We  saw  the  beetling  crags  and  deep  recesses 

O'er  which  our  way  must  lie,  but  we  were  told 
That  he  who  to  the  highest  summit  presses 

Will  see  the  gates  to  Elysian  fields  unfold. 

Hand  joined  in  hand,  we  climbed  the  lofty  mountain, 
We  passed  the  jutting  crags  and  threatening  peaks; 

No  pleasant  grove  was  there,  nor  cooling  fountain, 
Nor  rest,  save  that  which  high  ambition  seeks. 


/.    IV.  D.   ANDERSON.  II 

Yet  sweet  companionship  made  labor  lighter, 
And  obstacles  surmounted  trained  the  feet 

For  fresh  exertions,  and  the  way  grew  brighter, 
Illumed  by  light  that  shone  from  ^Victory's  seat. 

We  stand  together  on  the  Mount  of  Vision, 

And  now  we  know  the  path  our  feet  have  trod 
Has  led  to  Duty's  fields,  not  fields  Elysian, 

And  far  above  us  stretch  the  heights  of  God. 
But  toward  those  regions  pure  we  turn  our  faces, 

O  comrades  !     May  our  life-work,  just  begun, 
Though  other  hopes  the  hand  of  Time  erases, 

Receive  at  last  the  Master's  word  :  "  Well  done." 


ONUS     VIT/E. 


How  hard  it  presses  on  work-weary  shoulder, 
How  heavy  lies  upon  thought-laden  mind  ! 
The  sigh,  the  groan,  the  scalding  tears  that  blind, 

The  passions  that  within  the  heart's  deep  smoulder  — 

Like  melted  lava  once,  but  now  grown  colder  — 
Remembered  scoffs  and  taunts  and  words  unkind, 
Yea,  even  joys,  that  passed  and  left  behind 

Debris,  within  our  being's  core  to  moulder. 


A'AA^SAS   COLLECTION. 

But  then,  there  comes  a  time  by  Fate  bespoken, 
A  time  that  brings  the  surety  of  release. 

No  more  will  flesh  be  racked  and  hearts  be  broken, 
All  feeling,  Aithether  joy  or  pain,  shall  cease: 

The  burden's  lifted,  but  is  it  the  token 
Of  blest  Nirvana,  or  of  conscious  peace  ? 


b.  Bard. 


EASE    AND    CARE. 


GOD'S  angel  counseled  me  one  day 

Sweet  peace  to  make  'twixt  Ease  and  Care; 
He  bade  me  have  them  cast  away 

Old  feuds,  and  henceforth  be  a  loving  pair. 

For  Ease  soft  maiden  was,  and  Care 
A  warrior  grim,  and  clad  in  mail; 

His  look  distressed  the  tender  fair, 
His  rough  caresses  made  her  pale. 

Then  having  met  most  oft  with  Care, 
"Thou  art,  O  friend,  of  too  stern  mien," 

I  said  ;  "to  win  yon  maiden  fair, 

Thou  must  thine  armor  doff,  I  ween." 


14  KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

And  unto  Ease  I  said,  "O  Ease, 
Forget  thyself,  and  do  thy  best 

For  others'  good  —  strive  thou  to  please 
Sad  hearts,  for  so  is  God's  behest. 


Thus  much  I  said,  and  stepped  aside  — 

Then  there  they  met,  and  wooed  and  loved, 

And  in  due  time  Care  won  his  bride, 
And  softly  down  the  years  they  moved. 

And  through  the  years  there  came  to  birth 
Sweet  children,  unto  whom  was  given 

7  O 

The  boon  of  doing  good  on  earth, 

And  making  smooth  the  road  to  heaven  ! 


THE  MORNING  SUNLIGHT. 


I  STOOD  in  the  path  of  the  sunlight, 
As  the  angel  opened  the  gate, 

And  bade  the  imprisoned  glory 
No  more  in  the   courts  to  wait. 


Then  forth  leaped  the  tide  of  sunlight, 
Such  a  molten,  golden  wave, 


MARY  L.  BARD.  15 

I  fancied  the  angel's  footsteps 

Had  worn  off  the  golden  pave; 
And  that  God  had  bidden  an  angel 

To  gather  the  flecks  of  gold, 
And  dissolve  them  there  in  the  sunlight, 

That  mortals  might  thus  behold 
A  gleam  of  the  golden  glory 

That  gleameth  forever  and  aye, 
'Neath  the  trees,  by  the  crystal  fountains, 

Where  eternal  sunbeams  play. 


THE  NEW  YEAR. 


GOOD  deeds  and  ill,  dear  Lord, 
In  this  fair  book  shall  be; 
And  smiles  and  tears, 
And  hopes  and  fears, 
Thy  holy  eyes  shall  see  ! 

And  many  a  page,  dear  Lord, 
That  only  Thou  canst  read: 

Creation's  groans  — 

The  secret  moans 
Of  hearts  that  inly  bleed. 


KANSAS    COLLECTION. 

Look  Thou  in  love,  dear  Lord  ; 

Help  Thou  weak  hands  to  write 
'Gainst  deeds  of  ruth 
Strong  words  of  truth  — 

Strong  words  of  love  and  light ! 


<aAmar\da 


MY     MOTHER. 

A  SIMPLE  parsonage  —  plain  and  brown  — 
Where  ivies  rambled  up  and  down 

With  sweet-brier  ,roses. 
A  place  the  earliest  sunbeams  kissed, 
Nor  left  till  shadowed  by  the  mist 

The  night  uncloses. 

'T  was  here  she  wrought  with  patient  care 
A  life  whose  incense  filled  the  air 

With  gladness  only; 
Here  heard  her  call  to  enter  rest, 
And  left  the  home  a  broken  nest, 

Bereft  and  lonely. 

To  children's  hearts,  and  hearts  grown  strong 
With  anguish,  'tis  a  lesson  long, 
And  sad  the  learning: 

"2  (17) 


1 8  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

That  prayers  nor  tears  can  e'er  restore 
The  loved  ones  drifted  to  that  shore 
Beyond  returning. 

We've  learned  farewell  oft  through  these  years; 
She — welcome — where  there  are  no  tears, 

But  joys  supernal. 

And  closely  fold  earth's  loos'ning  bands 
Within  the  house  not  made  with  hands, 

Secure,  eternal. 

O  mother,  with  the  soft  brown  eyes  ! 
In  thy  fair  home  beyond  the  skies, 

Am  I  expected  ? 

Canst  thou  not  tell  me  that  at  last, 
When  'cross  that  threshold  all  have  passed, 

I  shall  not  be  rejected  ? 


AT    THE    RIVER. 

(My  peace  I  give  unto  you.    John  xiv  :  27.  ) 

THE  river's  not  wide, 

And  the  other  side 
Seems  nearer  than  ever  before; 

The  waves  once  so  dark 

Recede  from  the  bark, 
As  I  list  for  the  dip  of  the  oar. 


AMANDA   LOW  MAN  BAltTIIOLOMLlV. 

I  shudder  no  more, 

For  the  plash  of  the  oar 
Falls  in  rhythmical   cadence  so  sweet, 

It  seems  but  a  part 

Of  the  peace  in  my  heart, 
As  the  water  flows  nearer  my  feet. 

Nor  yet  do  I  shrink, 

Tho',  close  to  the  brink, 
The  breath  from  the  river  grows  chill; 

For  thro'  the  deep  roll 

His  voice  in  my  soul 
Bids  the  waves  and  all  fears  be  still. 

In  the  fast  ebbing  sand, 

Uplifted  I  stand 
By  a  Hand  pierced  for  me  long  ago; 

My  sins  all  confessed, 

On  His  bosom  I  rest, 
He  will  bear  me  safe  over,  I  know. 


20  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 


MORNING    GLORIES. 

BIRTHDAY. 
E.   K.  N. 

THESE  tuneful  bells,  all  trembling  yet 
With  wealth  of  heaven's  own  dew, 

This  birthday  morn,  mv  dear   sweet  friend, 
Began  their  life  for  you. 

Kissed  by  Aurora's  rosy  lips, 

They  woke  with  songs  of  praise 

To  Him  who  keeps  and  blesses  you, 
Through  all  earth's  winding  ways. 

As  from  the  flower,  down  falls  the  seed 

Upon  the  waiting  earth, 
And  lives  again  in  fragrant  bloom 

Of  beauty's  priceless  worth;  — 

So,  in  my  heart,  your  own  true  love 

Lives  now  in  flowerful  storv, 
And  with  my  own  lies  folded   in 

This  tell-tale  Mornin«;  Glorv. 


(•arl 


rann. 


TO  A  CHRISTIAN  LADY. 


MY  soul  in  thine;  thy  soul  in  mine; 

Our  hearts  a  unity,  a  tie;    • 
One  thought,  one  soul,  one  wish,  one  mind;- 

For  I  am  thou,  and  thou  art  I. 

And  yet,  I  thou  ?     Can  that  be  so  ? 

Am  I  so  pure,  clean  as  a  dove  ? 
Ah  me!     My  heart  much  sin  doth  know; 

'Tis  stained;  but  white's  that  of  my  love. 

A  heart  hath  evil  and  hath  good: 

Thou  art  the  good;  the  evil,  I: 
Thou  giv'st  the  heart  its  holy  mood, 

But  I  the  sins  that  in  it  lie. 


KANSAS  COLLECTION. 


And  still  we  are  one  soul,  by  rood  ! 

Thou  does  me  good ;  uphelp'st  me  thou ;  — 
The  bad  is  swallowed  in  the  good ; 

For  I,  in  thee,  art  only  thou  ! 


MULTUM   EX  PARVULO. 

A  LITTLE  light  so  dimly  shone 

That  hardly  was  the  dark  dispelled; 
But,  far  away,  a  traveler  lone 

Its  flickering,  dying  flame  beheld. 
Discouraged,  'neath  revolting  sky, 
Overcome  by  storm,  about  to  die, 
The  faint  red  ray  renewed  his  heart, — 

lie  toiled  anew,  and  found  a  wav; 
That  humble  spark  in  humble  part 

Still  driving  forth  its  lurid  ray. 

So,  from  the  humblest  human  heart, 

Some  lambent  beam  —  faint,  lonely  ray 
May  fall  on  one,  and  hope  impart 

That  gives  that  soul  eternal  day; 
For  souls  live  not  themselves  alone, 
But  intershine  for  laugh  or  groan; 
Each  liquid  ray,  through  joy  profane, 

May  penetrate  some  darkened  haunt, 
Where  aching  hearts,  with  racking  pain, 

Are  dying  for  the  hope  they  want. 


CARL  BRAXtV.  23 


TO  MY  HEART. 

LIFE  is  not  a  heavy  load, 

Need  is  not  a  cruel  goad ; 
A  lighted  plain,  a  fragrant  path, 

Dripping  of  the  sacred  blood 

From  the  skies,  a  spirit  flood, 
A  laughing  heart,  the  soul  man  hath. 

Pain  ?     A  grief  ?     A  galling  care  ? 

Canst  thou  not  a  sorrow  bear  ? 
From  that  white  throne  of  grace  above, 

Union  with  thy  pain  is  sought, 

Smiles  from  thee  with  blood  are  bought; 
Uplifting,  woe-relenting  love  ! 

Fainting  heart  of  worldly  life, 
Lift  those  brows  above  the  strife; 

Uprise  with  joy,  expanding  soul; 

Virtue's  grace  and  Purity's  smile 
Woes  from  out  thy  deep  beguile, — - 

An  ocean  of  the  light  doth  roll. 

—  Sad  and  melancholy  heart, 
Pleasures  are  but  pains  in  part; 

The  smiles  bring  tears,  kind  words  are  hard, 
Warmth  is  heat,  the  heart  doth  sink, 
Light  and  pain  doth  ever  link: 

O  Heaven,  God,  this  death  retard  ! 


24 


COLLECTION: 

Those  who  have  no  reverie, 
Lightsome,  laughing,  and  so  free  ! 

—  But  why  should'st  thou  e'er  envy  those  ? 
God  is  good,  and  Heaven  pure, 
Sunlight  in  good  hearts  is  sure, — 

Ah,  life  is  light  1  and  God's  smile  grows  1 


(iraOes   (^airfield. 


MY    FAITH. 


BE  not  an  anchor,  O  my  faith,  to  lie 

On  ocean's  slimy  floor,  dim  fathoms  deep, 
Where  dead,  forgotten  things  forever  sleep, 

And  tumult  of  the  waves  comes  never  nigh, 

And  e'en  beyond  the  glimpse  of  Day's  great  eye — 
To  cling  and  clutch  the  ooze,  thy  task  to  keep 
My  boat  at  rest,  in  front  the  self-same  sweep 

Of  well-known  coast,  o'erhead  the  self-same  sky. 

Nay,  rather,  when  the  mighty  winds  are  free, 
Be  thou  the  needle,  loyal  to  thy  North, 
To  bid  my  bark  the  utmost  isles  explore. 
Better  go  down  amid  the  tempest's  roar 
Than  rot  in  land-locked  bays,  and  put  not  forth 

At  hearing  of  the  loud  entreating  sea. 

(25) 


26  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 


TO    DEATH. 

I  KNOW  thou  lurkest  somewhere  down  the  way, 

Specter,  whom  all  men  seek  though  all  men  dread; 
In  some  safe  nook  beside  the  path  I  tread 

Thou  sittest,  grim,  and  day  by  weary  day, 

When  shadows  lengthen,  "Surely,"  thou  dost  say, 
"He  comes  at  eve;"  at  eve,  un visited, 
"To-night  he  comes;"  and  when  the  night  is  fled, 

"And  yet  he  comes,  nor  will  he  long  delay." 

Yea,  Death,  I  come.      But  thou  shalt  not  affright 
The  forward  fall  of  my  unfaltering  feet, 

Nor  flutter  the  even  coming  of  my  breath. 
Not  at  the  last  as  strangers  shall  we  meet; 
On  hopeless  ways,  no  helpful  star  in  sight, 

I  have  already  faced  and  proved  thee,  Death. 

TO    KANSAS. 

NOT  for  thy  outward  charms  of  form  and  face, 
Careful  to  leave  no  feature  unexpressed, 
As  if  for  beauty's  sake  we  loved  thee  best, 

We  bring  thee  praise;  nor  for  thy  pride  of  race, 

Nor  for  thy  wealth  that  waxeth  great  apace; 
Nor  will  we  vaunt,  with  low  and  swinish  zest, 
The  milky  richness  of  thy  mother-breast, 

Like  un  weaned  babes  that  know  no  higher  grace. 


ARTHUR   C  RATES   CAN  FIELD. 

vShall  we  be  lured  by  these  things  ?     Are  not  we 
A  something  more  than  mouth  and  eyes  and  ears, 

To  eat  and  look  and  listen  life  away? 
More  than  these  skin-deep  beauties  must  thou  be, 
To  win  and  keep  our  homage  through  the  years; 
Yea,  fair  in  more  transcendent  wise  than  they. 

And  fair  thou  art,  as  we  would  have  thee  be, 
Fair  even  in  this  more  trariscendent  wise; 
The  light  of  high  communings  on  thee  lies; 

Thy  touch  the  bond  abide  not,  but  are  free, 

Thy  look  is  gracious,  holy;  none  but  thee, 
Smiled  on  howe'er  she  be  by  happy  skies, 
Hath  power  to  still  the  hunger  of  our  eyes,     . 

Unsated  by  the  mountains  and  the  sea. 

For  thou  art  Freedom's  daughter,  and  thy  birth 
Was  through  the  pain  of  Righteousness's  wars, 

Thy  cradle  song,  the  battle's  roar  and  din. 
Therefore  thy  beauty  hath  the  greater  worth 

Of  noble  thoughts;  so  art  thou  fair  within, 
And  claimest  thine  the  pathway  of  the  stars. 


27 


.  <*A.  13. 


MEMORIAL    DAY. 

NATURE,  sweet  mother,  loving  all 
With  equal  heart,  forgetful  twines 

Her  beauty  round  the  battered  walls, 

And  hides,  with  flowers,  the  battle  lines. 

In  languid  dream,  o'er  vale  and  hill 

The  daisies  sentinel  her  dead; 
Heedless  for  what  they  fought  and  fell, 

Or  by  what  banner  they  were  led. 

Her  children  were  they  all  —  dear  boys  — 
For  something  good  each  heart  beat  true; 

Brothers,  yet  at  the  bugle's  voice 

To  battle  marched  in  gray  and  blue. 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Now  in  her  arms  the  foes  lie  still; 

She  grants  them  gracious  covering; 
With  quarrel  done,  their  sweet  good  will 

The  happy  birds  forever  sing. 

O  clavs  of  blood  and  jealous  pain, 

You  hurt  our  hearts  full  deep  and  long, 

That  still  the  bitter  thoughts  remain, 
Resentful  of  the  costly  wrong  ! 

0  noble  heart,  whose  sacrifice 
Sealed  gloriously  the  Nation's  cause, 

Whose  thoughts,  benevolent  and  wise, 
Are  reverenced  as  the  Nation's  laws, 

1  low  have  we  imitated  thee, 

Redeemed  thy  large  and  liberal  word  — 
If  malice  banish  charity,. 

With  hands  still  ready  for  the  sword  ? 

May  incense  of  these  roses  fair 

That  die  in  this  sweet  death  of  May, 

With  breath  of  balm  load  all  the  air, 
To  heal  the  hearts  of  blue  and  gray. 

'Tis  holy  fragrance,  fraught  with  fate 
Grander  than  dwells  in  steam  and  steel; 

And  builds  the  fabric  of  a  .State 

Worth  all  the  woe  that  bought  its  weal. 


A.  A.  B.   CAVANESS. 


So  shall  our  heroes  peaceful  sleep 

While  love  a*nd  honor,  flowers  and  stars, 

Through  centuries  their  vigils  keep, 
Till  love  and  honor  banish  wars. 


SPRING. 

UNDER  the  opened  gates  of  Paradise 

Now  swings  the  world,  and  thro'  the  soundless  seas 
The  wind-swept  heaven  drops  upon  the  trees 

The  perfumes  of  celestial  sacrifice; 

O  leaves  and  flowers  —  sweetest  mysteries  — 
Thrilling  our  souls  with  voiceless  madrigals, 
Are  ye  not  ciphers  writ  on  feature's  walls, 

The  organ  notes  of  future  symphonies  ? 

Prophet  blossoms!     Earth's  winter  has  been  long, 
Eons  of  years,  O  emerald.,  preaching  leaves, 

Snow-banks  of  human  hearts,  glaciers  of  wrong  ! 
But  lo!  it  comes,  the  sun  that  all  retrieves, 

The  ages'  glass,  the  miracle  of  spring 

Doth  shadow  Time's  majestic  blossoming. 


32  KANSAS  COLLECTION'. 

LOVE. 

THE  challenge  of  the  night's  eternal  bloom  — 

Planet  and  sun;  this  speck  on  which  we  crawl 
In  paths  eccentric  to  our  mystic  doom  — 
Even  as  it,  awhile  in  light,  then  gloom  — 

With  dark  arcana  filled,  whose  subtle  thrall 
Doth  bend  us  over  rock  and  flower,  and  sweeps 
Our  wondering  souls  thro'  universal  deeps 

Straining  to  catch  their  meaning  mystical, 
Are  but  as  letters  dimly  streaming  light 
On  Love — -of  all,  the  essence  infinite  — 

The  life  of  angels,  and  whose  lack's  the  curse 
Of  devils;  but  to  mortals  left  to  know 
As  both  the  bliss  supreme  and  saddest  woe, 

Love  is  the  secret  of  the  universe. 


POETRY  is  the  struggle  of  the  soul 

Toward  angels'  speech  —  the  soul-divining  rod, 
Invoking  from  all  deeps  their  bliss  and  dole, 

And  shadows  of  the  mysteries  of  God. 

—  Cai-ancss. 


G.  p.  (Jljiftenden. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  "THE  PLEROMA,"  A  POEM   OF 
THE  CHRIST. 

Bopk  II,   Christ  in  History. 
THE     PI.EROMA. 

Now  hath  OUT  Fullness^  immanent  in  time, 
The  promise  of  the  first  creation  filled; 
See  nature  upward  turning  to  the  sky, 
To  list  the  footsteps  of  its  Creator  ! 
Veiling  our  glories,  and  low  bending  down 
We  pass  the  open  door  into  the  earth. 
Farewell,  Eternal  Father!     We  descend: 
So  hast  thou  willed,  ere  earth  or  man  became; 
Thou  know'st  the  way,  the  sacrifice,  the  end. 
Turn  back,  ye  splendors  of  the  heavenly  throne! 
The  Son  of  God  shall  be  the  Son  of  Alan; 
The  Timeless  find  and  feel  the  bonds  of  time; 
The  Spaceless  One  shall  tabernacle  space; 
The  Increate  be  of  a  virgin  born; 
The  Godhead  bodily  revealed  to  men. 

-3  (33) 


34 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

ODE. 

The  Song  of  the  Stars. 

THE  song  of  the  stars,  —  the  wondering  stars! 
The  listening,  glistening,  diamond  stars; 

While  the  blithe,  blue  air 

Calls  everywhere; 

To  the  hills  and  vales, 

To  the  glades  and  dales: 
"List,  list,  to  the  song  of  the  wandering  stars!" 

The  shout  of  the  stars,  —  the  numberless  stars! 
A  glorified  host  with  light-winged  cars! 

While  the  blithe,  blue  air 

Calls  everywhere; 

Heralding  far 

The  "Son  of  a  Star!"— 
The  antiphone  of  the  wondering  stars! 

The  sigh  of  the  stars,  —  the  increate  stars! 
The  wistful,  mystical,  soulful  stars! 

While  the  blithe,  blue  air 

Calls  everywhere, 

"Behold  Judea's  STAR!— 

Flashing  his  beams  afar! 

In  his  trig-on  of  tears 

A  scepter  he  bears, 
And  the  fadeless  crown  of  the  increate  stars!" 


E.  P.   CHITTENDEN. 

Chorus  of  Angels. 

He  hath  suddenly  come  to  His  temple; 

His  hour  and  His  mission's  begun; 
In  the  plenary  graces  of  manhood, 

lie  shines  like  the  orient  sun. 

Humanity,  here  is  thy  summit ! 

Lo,  here  is  the  CROWN  of  mankind  ! 
In  this  beautiful  CIRCLE  of  virtues, 

Are  SEVEN  PERFECTIONS  divined. 

They  seal  Him  the  Son  of  the  Highest ! 

Thev  sig-n  Him  the  meekest  of  men! 
They  lend  Him  unspeakable  beauty, 

That  thrilleth  and  thrilleth  again. 

They  praise  Him  the  GOAL  OF  CREATION  ! 

The  END  of  the  timeless  process; 
The  mystery  hid  from  the  ages  — 

The  SAVIOR  a  world  shall  confess. 

His  FAITH  and  His  REV'RENCE  perfect, 
Toward  God;  His  OBEDIENCE  too: 

His  LOVE  for  mankind  most  unselfish; 
His  WISDOM,  the  Heavens  shine  through. 

His  HOPE,  never  dimm'd  in  the  darkness; 

His  VICTORY,  full  o'er  Satan: 
In  sinless  INCOMP'RABLE  MANHOOD, 

BEHOLD  HIM  —  THE  PERFECT  ADAM  ! 


35 


36  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Gentle  as  a  child  —  mighty  as  a  God; 
Peaceful  as  a  fountain  —  wrathful  as  a  flood; 
Simple  though  His  accents  —  deep  as  is  the  sea; 
Loved  by  little  children  —  dreaded  MYSTERY! 
Needy  as  a  servant — richest  born  of  beings; 
Praying  to  the  FATHER — almoner  of  kings; 
Walking  on  the  earth  —  dwelling  in  the  skv; 
Speaking  in  the  fields — answered  from  on  high; 
Guide  of  all  to  life  —  leading  unto  death; 
Promiser  of  Heaven  —  in  His  dying  breath; 
Friend  of  sinners,  He  —  suffering  their  guilt; 
Most  divinely  MAN  when  His  blood  was  spilt; 
Dying  unto  life  —  victor  in  defeat; 
Raised  from  the  grave  to  a  heavenly  seat. 
Hail  we!     Hail  we,  Jesus!     Mystery  divine! 
Thine  the  kingdom  ever!  And  the  GLORY  Thine! 


WHO    HATH    BELIEVED? 


OR  ever  the  angel's  word 
The  fleet  disciple  heard ; 
Or  ever  the  women  cried: 
"He  is  risen,  the  crucified;" 
Or  ever  the  eastern  sun 
Rose  on  Jerusalem; 
In  the  empty  sepulcher, 
With  the  folded  napkin  there; 
And  the  spiced  cerements 
That  gave  forth  their  incense; 


E.   P.    CmTTENDE.V. 

A  voice  within  him  spake:  — 
"  Let  the  silent  harp  awake! 
Let  the  eye  of  faith  perceive! 
Let  the  one  lie  loved  believe 
In  the  risen  Nazarene, 
Though  His  form  is  yet  unseen." 

Then  the  Scripture  poured   its  light; 
And  the  dawn  trod  on  the  night; 
And  the  effigies  of  grief 
Were  the  voice  that  brought  relief. 

'  T  is  a  parable  of  love, 
Which  the  humblest  soul  may  prove. 
Up,  O  heart  !  why  dost  thoti  grieve? 
Though  unseen  thoti  canst  believe; 
And  the  Easter  morning  bring 
Blessings  from  the  risen  Kino'. 


E  U  A  L  G  I  A . 


37 


I  WAS  thoughtless  till  thou  found    me, 
Always  heedless  till  thou  bound  me, 
Throwing  loving  arms  around  me, 

Sweet,  sweet  pain. 
I  was  mortal,  but  I  thought  not, 
Rashly  doing  what  I  ought  not, 
Ever  willing  what  I  wrought  not  — 

vSweet,  sweet  pain. 


KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

Visitor,  heaven  sent,  I  sue  thee, 
Tho'  my  racking  members  rue  thee, 
And  my  reason  vain  eschew  thee  — 

Sweet,  sweet  pain; 
Pry  thee,  tell  me  ere  thou  leave  me, — 
For  my  sins  weigh  down  and  grieve  me 
In  thy  arms  will  He  receive  me, 

Sweet,  sweet  pain  ? 

Peace!   dear  soul,  the  Savior  hears  thee, 
In  the  passion  ever  nears  thee, 
On  the  changed  cross  uprears  lie  — 

Sweet,  sweet  pain. 
Heavenly  Father,  if  Thou  wiliest, 
With  my  Lord,  the  cup  Thou  fillest, 
I  will  quaff,  until  Thou  stillest 

Sweet,  sweet  pain. 


BURDENS  borne  are  soonest  lightened; 
Darkest  skies  are  soonest  brightened; 
So  the  soul  by  faith  is  heightened; 

Hope  thou  in  God  ! 

—  Chittenden. 

OUTWARD  and  inward;  ebbing  and  flowing; 

Phases  are  myriad;  life  is  but  one; 
Circles  concentric,  meeting,  and  showing, 

Higher  than  human,  Nature  hath  none. 

—  Chittenden. 


FAITH. 

'  T  WILL  not  be  long. 
The  dewy  morn  will  pass  away 
Before  the  scorching  heat  of  clay, 
The  flowers  will  droop,  birds  cease  their  song; 
The  sun  will  seek  the  golden  west, 
Behind  the  hills  't  will  sink  to  rest  — 
'Twill  not  be  long  ! 

It  is  not  far. 

Beyond  the  clouds  that  veil  the  skies, 
Beyond  the  mists  that  dim  our  eyes, 
Faith  sees  a  beauteous,  gleaming  star; 

She  hears  the  white-robed  angel  throng 
Sweet  strains  of  melody  prolong — • 

No,  'tis  not  far! 
(39) 


4° 


JCAXSAS   COLLECTION. 

It  is  not  wide,  — 

That  current,  death,  that  sweeps  along, 
So  deep  and  dark,  so  swift  and  strong: 
She  hears  the  boatman  cross  its  tide; 

Safe,  safe  with  Him,  no  more  alone, 
Oh!  Joy  supreme,  sweet  rest  and  home  - 

Aye,  't  is  not  wide! 


A    COQUETTE. 

SPRING  is  sweet  coquette: 

With  smiles  and  melting  tenderness  she  comes 
To  storm,  with  bud  and  blossom,  all  your  heart; 
'  T  is  useless  to  resist,  or  try  escape. 
The  woodland  fastness  is  her  citadel, 
Where  every  winged  songster  pleads  her  cause. 
Nor  yet  shall  you  avoid  her  in  the  field: 
For,  kneeling  at  your  feet,  she  '11  clasp  your  hand, 
And,  with  the  other,  point  to  summer's  golden  prime, 
And  make  rash  promises  of  what  the  future  holds. 

Experience  may  tell  you  to  beware  — 

To  trust  not  her  seductive  promises, 

To  look  not  on  her  as  she  smiles  or  weeps; 

Yet,  ere  you  are  aware,  within  your  heart 

She  breaks  the  winter  up,  —  and  you  are  won. 

Then,  laughing  at  your  weakness,  she  is  gone 

To  try  her  countless  arts  in  other  climes. 


E.  J.    CREGO.  41 

Spring  favors  not  deep  thought;  but,  rather,  sows 

The  seeds  that  ripen  later  into  thought. 

The  soul  seems  nebulous,  and  scarcely  feels 

Its  own  existence  in  the  universal  joy; 

But,  basking  in  the  sunlight,  drinks  deep  draughts 

Of  this  new  wine  of  life 

With  which  all  nature  seems  intoxicate. 


DESTINY. 


MAN  lacks  resource; 

The  Great  Designer  never  does. 

Man  cannot  pierce  the  unexplored, 

Beyond  the  confines  of  the  universe, 

To  form  creations  of  his  own. 

At  best  we  only  imitate  God's  works: 

He  ne'er  repeats  his  own. 

Are  there  two  leaves  alike  in  all  the  wood  ? 

Two  streams  that  run  with  equal  murmur  to  the  sea? 

Two  birds  whose  warblings  are  unvarying  harmony  ? 

We  part  to-day;  God  wills  it  so. 
And  though  both  journey  o'er  the  hill, 
Your  path  cannot  be  mine. 
Our  lives  are  like  two  ivy  vines 
That,  clambering  o'er  the  oak, 


42 


KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

Cross  and  recross  to  gain  the  top. 
Each  point  of  intersection  marks 
The  greeting  of  a  friend, 
A  farewell  spoken. 

We  part  to-day.     If  we  are  friends 
To-morrow  we  shall  meet  again, 
And,  clasping  hands, 
Take  courage  and  press  on, 
The  summit  to  attain. 


Emmet 


THE   ROSE'S   MESSAGE. 

I  SAW  her  stroll  alone  in  evening's  shade, 

And  with  a  torn  rose  stem  she  slowly  traced, 
Upon  a  mossy  wall,  with  lichens  graced, 

Some  careful  words,     By  her  dear  presence  stayed, 

I  sought  the  meaning  that  the  rose  conveyed. 
So  stealing  near,  with  footsteps  lightly  placed, 
I  held  her  close  in  loving  arms  embraced, 

And  read  the  message  as  she  stood  dismayed. 

Ah!  what  a  joyful  tale  it  told  to  me, 

Though  tender  eyes  had  hinted  oft  the  same! 

It  filled  my  heart  with  rapturous  ecstacy, 

Thus  dimly  etched  beneath  my  lowly  name; 

It  was  in  very  truth  Fate's  fond  decree, 

For  rudely  written  there,  I  read,  "Je  t'aime." 

HIS  PLEADING  — RONDEAU. 


DEAR  one,  'tis  sweet  for  me  to  trace 

Upon  thy  tender,  wistful  face, 

With  glistening  tears  of  sorrow  wet, 
But  like  a  pearl  with  diamonds  set, 

A  love  that  seems  like  Heaven's  own  grace. 


44 


KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

And  while  I  steal  this  fond  embrace, 
Within  our  old-time  trysting  place, 

I  know   't  is  wrong,  so  wrong,  but  vet, 
Dear  one,  't  is  sweet. 

Oh!  canst  thou  from  thy  mind  efface 
The  wrong,  and  then  with  me  retrace 

The  dear  old  way  where  first  we  met, 
When  life  was  free  from  vain  regret, 
And  when  the  years  flew  on  apace? 
Dear  one,  't  is  sweet. 

HER  ANSWER      RONDEAU. 


YES,  love,  't  is  sweet,  as  sweet  to  me 

As  it  can  ever  be  to  thee, 

Yet,  lead  me  not  too  far  astray — 
Thine  heart  is  wild,  my  will  is  clnv, 

But  thou  must  wait  till  I  am  free. 

'T  is  hard,  this  stern  captivity, 
This  thralldom  I  couldst  not  foresee, 
Oh!  would  that  of  it  I  could  say, 
"Yes,  love,  'tis  sweet." 

E'en  though  I  yield  in  some  degree, 
I  cannot  grant  thy  loving  plea; 

So  tempt  me  not,  I  meekly  pray. 

Perhaps,  dear  heart,  somewhere,  some  day, 
Before  the  world  my  song  shall  be: 
"Yes,  love,  'tis  sweet." 


@ibson. 


WHY    WAIT? 

WHY  wait  to  show  your  love, 

Until  the  form  lies  cold  ? 
Why  leave  unsaid  those  words 

Of  dearer  weight  than  gold  ? 

Oh  !  could  you  read  the  heart, 
And  see  love's  hunger  there, 

You  would  not  wait  to  speak 
And  show  your  tender  care. 

When  death's  chill  brink  is  passed, 
We  '11  heed  not  love  expressed 

By  lilies  cypress-twined 
Across  the  pulseless  breast. 

PRAIRIE    ASTERS. 

STARRY  blooms,  your  forms  I  greet, 
Down  where  brook  and  prairie  meet; 
Purple,  lilac,  paler  hues, 
Gleaming  thro'  the  Autumn  dews. 
Quails  and  doves  come  here  to  drink, 

Where  you  love  to  nod  and  blink. 

(45) 


46  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Prairie  asters,  fringed  and  bright, 
Add  to  Autumn  beauty -light ; 
Down  the  valleys,  on  the  hills, 
Fringing  deep  the  prairie  rills, 
Asters  bright,  you  bring  sweet  cheer, 
Love  to  light  the  fading  year. 


TO  EIGHTY-EIGHT  AND   EIGHTY-NINE. 


WHAT  hast  thou  left,  Old  Year  ? 
A  grave  that  holds  one  ever  dear, 
Where  cherished  dreams  are  laid  away, — 
December  's  chilled  my  buds  of  May. 
Thou  left'st  sere  leaves  and  withered  hopes, 
A  sombre  vale  where  a  shadow  gropes; 
A  deed  undone,  a  sad  regret 
That  will  not  let  my  soul  forget. 

What  hast  thou  brought,  New  Year  ? 
Fair  promise  nipped   by  ghastly  fear, — 
Or  will  the  flowers,  that  now  seem  dead, 
On  Easter  morn  lift  up  their  head 
And  smile  with  resurrected  life 
Of  joy,  where  deadly  pain  and  strife 
Had  choked  it  out  ?      I  still  will    hope, 
Though  heart  and  soul  'mid   shadows  grope. 


foillie  IS.  Silliland. 


ONE    THING   STANDETH. 


YOUTH  will  quickly-pass  away; 
Flowers  bloom  but  for  a  day; 
Brightest  hopes  will  soon  decay; 
Life  and  earth  death  soon  will  sever, 
But  God's  love,  it  faileth  never. 

Brightest  hours  too  soon  are  gone; 
Scarce  they've  come  ere  they  are  flown; 
One  thing  standeth  —  one  alone. 
Though  earth's  best  should  pass  forever, 
God's  rich  love,  it  faileth  never. 

Thou  who  art  forlorn,  distressed, 
Take  this  lesson  to  thy  breast; 
Hold  it  close;  'twill  give  thee  rest: 
Naught  of  earth  can  from  thee  sever 
God's  rich  love,  it  faileth  never. 

(47) 


D. 


LIFE. 

ONE  time,  when  day's  last  lingering  ray  had  faded, 
And  murky  clouds  obscured  each  cheerful  star, 

And  'mong  the  distant  hills  by  darkness  shaded, 
I  heard  the  whispering  of  the  winds  afar. 

Upon  the  bridge  that  spanned  a  flowing  river, 
I  stood  and  gazed  upon  the  outward  flow; 

I  saw  the  shadows  on  its  bosom  quiver, 

Like  phantoms  rising  from  the  depths  below.  ' 

It  tarried  not  a  moment,  downward  sweeping, 
Out  toward  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  broad  sea, 

Whose  mighty  billows  'gainst  the  shores  were  leaping, 
Tossing  their  foaming  spray  perpetually. 


Life  is  a  current  setting  toward  the  ocean 
Of  the  Unknown:  that  sea  without  a  shore; 

Where  all  the  tumult  of  this  world's  commotion, 
Is  hushed  to  stillness  in  the  evermore. 

—4  (  49  ) 


5° 


KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

And  curious  Science,  through  the  passing  ages, 
Vainly  hath  sought  the  mystery  to  unfold ; 

But  not  to  earth's  philosophers  or  sages 
Have  been  the  secrets  of  that  voyage  told. 

For  He  alone,  whose  wisdom  guides  our  being, 
Who  placed  within  its  transient  home  the  soul, 

When  from  its  clayey  tabernacle  fleeing, 

Will  'cross  that  trackless  waste  its  way  control. 


OLD  DAYS  AT  SCHOOL. 

OLD  days  at  school  !     What  scenes  arise, 
Recalled  anew  from  Youth's  fair  morning, 

Radiant  and  fresh  to  Memory's  eyes, 
And  beautified  by  Hope's  adorning  — 
Old  days  at  school. 

Old  days  at  school  !     When  life  was  fair, 
And  Fortune  offed  all  her  guerdon; 

Ere  dreams  had  flown,  or  brooding  Care 
And  Sorrow  had  imposed  their  burden  — 
Old  days  at  school. 

Old  days  at  school  !      With  eager  feet 
We  wandered  'mid  the  groves  Illyrian, 

Where  Knowledge,  in  her  far  retreat, 
Should  yield  to  us  the  cup  Pierian  — 
Old  days  at  school. 


ALLEN  D.   GRAY.  51 

We're  older  now,  and  life  has  grown 

A  trifle  frayed  about  the  edges; 
"Alas  !"   we  sigh,  "I  might  have  known 

That  Time  would  not  redeem  his  pledges 
He  made  at  school !" 

Indeed,  perhaps  it  may  be  true, 

For  Fortune  is  a  fickle  rover. 
If  so,  her  flight  we  will  not  rue, 

Nor  mourn  the  days  we  can't  live  over  — 
Old  days  at  school. 

And  after  all  we  may  not  sigh, 

For  Faith  is  real  and  duties  nearer, 
And  we  shall  find  that,  by  and  by, 

Even  Heaven  itself  may  be  the  dearer 
For  days  at  school. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  TIME. 


I. 

No  SOUND  of  war's  alarms, 

No  strife  of  hostile  arms 
Vex'd  the  deep  hush  of  the  historic  morn, 

When  He  —  erstwhile  foretold 

By  prophet  bards  of  old  — 
The  Wonderful,  the  Prince  of  Peace,  was  born. 


52 


KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

II. 

Now  wakes  th'  triumphant  song 

Of  the  angelic  throng, 
Now  shines  the  natal  star  with  bright'ning  ray; 

The  radiant  morning  waits 

Beyond  her  crystal  gates, 
To  give  the  world  its  primal  Christmas  day. 

III. 

From  out  the  ancient  night 

Springs  the  prophetic  light, 
The  dawning  of  the  Golden  Age  appears; 

The  wrathful  voice  is  still 

On  Ebal's  cloudy  hill, 
The  curse  is  lifted  from  the  dolorous  years. 

IV. 

Perpetual  glorv  fills 

The  spaces  of  the  hills, 
The  paths  the  humble  Galilean   trod, 

The  healing  hand  to  reach, 

Love's  benison  to  teach, 
ISlai^s  sovereign  hope,  the  fatherhood  of  God. 

V. 

With  charity  and  cheer, 

The  swift  recurrent  year 
Its  gracious  Christmas  message  shall  repeat, 

Till  peace  and  Christ's  good  will 

Th'  regenerate  earth  shall  fill, 
And  Love's  eternal  purpose  is  complete. 


COUNTRY    CHILDREN. 

OXI.Y  a  tangle  of  nut-brown  hair, 
A  maze  of  arms  uplift  and  bare, 
A  scamper  of  feet,  all  swift  and  brown; 
Thus  they  differ  from  those  in  town. 

Now  after  the  calves,  now  high  in  air, 
A- flitting  here  and  flying  there, 
Lading  the  wind  with  maddest  glee, 
As  full  of  fun  as  full  can  be. 

Up  in  the  loft  where  the  swallows  hush, 
Out  where  wintergreen  berries  blush, 
High  on  the  hill  where  ripe  berries  glow, 
Deep  in  the  swamp  where  blue  flags  grow. 

Falling  asleep  on  a  cock  of  hay, 
Risking  necks  or  running  away; 
Hunting  what  next  they  can  do  or  dare,  • 
Full  of  frolic  and  free  as  air. 

(S3) 


54  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

We  grieve  for  the  loss  of  youth  so  fair, 
As  every  country  child  may  share  — 
Whenever  we  walk  the  city  street 
And  watch  the  tread  of  children's  feet, 

So  poised  and  posed  by  a  master's  art, 
Threading  their  way  through  hall  and  mart. 
Daintiest  ruffle  and  silken  gown 
Are  not  so  fair  as  free  arms  brown. 

Satin  and  kid  on  pallid,  slow  feet 
Are  far  less  fair  than  brown  ones  fleet; 
And  tiniest  hands  in  "Jouvin's  best," 
Daintily  clasped  in  affected  rest, 

Are  not  so  fair  as  plump  ones  free, 
Clasping  fruits  or  swinging  from  tree. 
Country  mothers,  by  the  brown  sun-bloom 
Save  their  darlings  from  early  tomb. 

No  city  man  or  woman  can  see 
Country  children,  wild  with  their  glee, 
Without  a  sigh  for  the  rugged  steep 
Where  mosses  hang  and  roses  creep; 

For  craggy  ledges  where  sweet  ferns  grow,1 
And  paths  are  white  with  arbutus-snow; 
A  sighing  thought  for  that  walk  in  the  dew, 
Through  earliest  clover  fields  he  knew; 


MARY  TENNEY  GRAY. 

A  yearning  wish  for  the  old  refrains, 
The  long-hushed  songs,  and  long-lost  games; 
A  waft  of  new-mown  hay  at  the  door  — 
The  soft  sweet-brier's  breath  once  more; 

The  rare  perfume  of  the  cinnamon-rose, 
The  breath  of  all  the  garden  grows; 
The  tw  itter  of  swallows,  cooing  of  doves, 
And  alas!  perhaps,  a  sigh  for  dead  loves  I 


55 


DEAD  LEAVES. 

DRIFT  the  dead  leaves  gaily  by, 
Falling  low  or  circling  high: 
Brilliant  maple  red  as  blood, 
Tawny  gold  of  cottonwood, 
Softest  bronze  of  poplar  leaf, 
Deepest  browns  of  grass  and  sheaf. 

Youth  and  verdure  both  have  fled- 
Glory,  color  —  Death  instead 
Making  merriest  holiday! 
Just  as  each  will  pass  away — 
Wildest  carnival  ere  Lent  — 
Robed  like  reveler,  Death  is  sent ! 


56  A'ANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Out  of  Youth's  bright  land  will  burst 
Tender  leaves  of  life  at  first; 
Later,  cometh  fruit  and  bloom, 
Richest  hue  and  best  perfume: 
Scarlets  hot,  from  Passion  lent, 
Azures  soft,  from  deep  Content, 


Yellows  gay,  from  Envy's  star, 
Royal  purples,  won  in  war, 
Darkest  sacramental  wine 
Spilled  betwixt  the  thorn  and  vine; 
Every  leaf  like  missal  rare 
Gilt  or  dyed  by  grief  or  care. 


Once  we  paint  the  life  leaves  o'er, 
Sybil-like  we  ope  the  door; 
Scatter  wide  and  fling  them  high, 
Richest  woof  and  rarest  dye. 
Brightest  gold  will  surely  show 
Breath  of  furnace  heat  below. 


Who  will  count  the  life  we  bring 
To  color  deep  the  wreath  we  fling? 
Who  shall  know  the  depths  of  woe 
Tingeing  all  the  leaves  we  throw? 
Who  will  care  that  thorns  we  pressed 
Gave  that  rosy  leaf  its  best? 


MARY  TENNEY  GRAY.  57 

Only  so  the  deeds  we  do 

Help  a  comrade  safely  through; 

Let  the  leaves  so  bright  and  dead, 

Tell  of  all  the  life  we  led 

'Mid  the  joy  of  Autumn  hour 

When  fruit  was  shed,  and  closed  the  flower. 


Let  the  leaves,  so  dyed  and  dead, 
Bravely  sink  to  their  last  bed  — 
Gorgeous,  like  some  king  of  old, 
Cased  in  cinnabar  and  gold ; 
While  our  life-leaves  softly  fall, 
With  dear  Love  aboVe  them  all. 


LOVE   IS   DEAD. 

"PAX  is  dead  !"  the  cry  went  ringing, 
And  through  groves  of  cypress  fell, 

Hushing  all  the  Grecian  singing 
And  planting  rows  of  asphodel. 


Love  is  dead  !  yet  birds  are  singing, 
Love  is  dead  !  yet  flowers  bloom; 

And  the  sunlight,  summer  bringing, 
Cannot  light  his  darkened  tomb. 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Love  is  dead  !     He  died  in  anguish, 

Of  a  sharp  and  cruel  blow, 
And,  howe'er  your  heart  may  languish, 

Love  shall  warm  it  never,  no! 

No  eye  saw  the  stroke  't  was  given, 
No  ear  heard  the  mortal  groan, 

When  the  tender  heart  was  riven, 
Bleeding,  desolate,  alone. 

No  lip  read  the  funeral  service, 
No  bell  tolled  the  final  sigh; 

Mass  or  anthem  ne'er  above  us, 
God  and  Grief  alone  watch'd  by. 

And  you  might  have  had  him  living, 
Warm  and  close,  to  clasp  and  hold. 

Life's  sole  gift,  that's  worth  the  giving, 
By  your  words,  lies  dead  and  cold! 


(Carles  Moreau  ganger. 


ATLANTIS. 

PROUD  isle  of  the  long  distant  ages, 

Weird  land  of  philosophers'  dreams, 
Thy  name,  in  all  history's  pages, 

\Vrith  mystical  radiance  gleams; 
Enchantment  her  glamour  of  glory 

lias  cast  like  a  mantle  o'er  thee, 
As  Time  hath  repeated  thy  story, 

Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea, 
Atlantis, 

Atlantis!     Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea. 

Bright  sunshine  no  more  gilds  thy  mountains; 

Thy  slopes  are  enshrouded  in  night; 
Undiijcerned  are  thy  clear,  gushing  fountains, 

Once  crowned  with  seven-hued  light; 
All  hushed  are  thy  bird-notes,  once  gladly 

Resounding  o'er  valley  and  lea; 
Slow  tides  through  thy  forests  sweep  sadly, 

Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea, 
Atlantis, 

Atlantis!     Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea. 

(59) 

0 


60  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Sunk  in  ruins,  thy  palaces  nestle 

Where  finny  tribes  fearlessly  roam ; 
Far  above  thy  rich  fields  the  staunch  vessel 

Sails  swift  through  the  high-tossing  foam 
Thy  monuments,  fallen  and  shattered, 

Can  give  to  tradition  no  key; 
The  threads  of  thy  banners  are  scattered, 

Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea, 
Atlantis, 

Atlantis!     Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea. 


Thy  sons  lie  at  rest  'neath  the  waters, 

Their  tombs  'mid  the  coral  groves  placed; 
And  with  them  repose  the  fair  daughters 

Whose  presence  thy  mansion-halls  graced. 
All  at  peace  are  thy  foes  and  defenders; 

Side  by  side  sleep  the  slave  and  the  free; 
What  now  are  thy  kingdoms  or  splendors, 

Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea? 
Atlantis, 

Atlantis!     Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea. 


What  scenes  of  earth's  newness  elysian 
Were  rimmed  by  the  curve  of  thy  shore, 

Ere  came  mighty  Nature's  decision, 
"Stand  thou  before  heaven  no  more?" 

What  tales  of  heroic  endeavor, 

What  wisdom  of  won'drous  degree, 


CHARLES  MORE A  U  HARGER.  6 1 

Are  sealed  in  thy  bosom  forever, 
Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea? 

Atlantis, 
Atlantis!     Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea. 

Great  mother  of  nations  unnumbered, 

Once  teeming  with  manifold  life, 
For  centuries  past  thou  hast  slumbered, 

Unmoved  by  the  surge's  hoarse  strife. 
Man's  curious  questionings  scorning, 

Close-hidden  thy  secrets  shall  be, 
Till  thou  greetest  eternity's  morning, 

Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea, 
Atlantis, 

Atlantis!     Lost  Gem  of  the  Sea. 


THE  SOD  SCHOOL  HOUSE. 

AN  earthen  mound  on  the  prairie's  swell, 

The  wrork  of  rough  settlers'  hands, 
An  uncouth  temple  for  learning  made, 
Its  walls  of  the  rudest  earth-squares  laid  — 
A  lone  sod  school  house  stands. 

Not  a  tree  in  sight  from  the  open  door, 
Xot  a  shrub  on  the  landscape's  face, 
But  a  sea  of  grass  fills  all  the  view, 
Its  waves  are  of  emerald's  sparkling  hue, 
And  above  cloud-shadows  race. 


62  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

I  hear  the  sound  of  a  tinkling  bell: 

'T  is  the  teacher's  signal  sweet, 
There's  a  drowsy  hum  from  a  score  of  lips, 
There  's  a  smothered  laugh  at  some  dullard's  slips, 

And  a  noise  of  restless  feet. 

Do  they  think  as  they  tread  the  earthen  floor, 

Those  children  gathered  there, 
How  near  to  Nature's  true  heart  they  stand, 
Their  tan-stained  cheeks  by  her  light  breath  fanned, 

Their  eyes  on  her  features  fair? 

Do  they  hear  the  notes  forever  new, 

That  the  limitless  prairies  sing? 
'T  is  a  nobler  strain  than  books  have  told, 
Than  choirs  have  breathed  or  organs  rolled, 

Or  silver  chimes  can  ring. 

They  say:  "Be  pure  as  our  morning  dew, 

Be  firm  as  our  leagues  of  earth, 
Be  kind  as  our  breezes  that  gently  blow, 
Be  .bright  as  our  hills  in  the  sunset's  glow, 

Be  gay  as  our  song  birds'  mirth. 

'•Look  up  to  the  light  like  the  spears  that  wave 

O'er  all  our  stretching  miles; 
Let  the  flowers  that  dimple  our  bosom  cast 
A  "spell  of  beauty  that  shall  at  last 

Tinge  manhood's  years  with  smiles." 


CHARLES  MOREAU  1IARGER.  63 

And  the  peaceful  haze  at  yonder  rim, 

Just  kissing  the  prairie  sea, 
Has  a  soft  refrain  for  the  song  of  life  — 
It  whispers,  "Beyond  this  earthly  strife 

Lies  the  glorious  rest  to  be." 

Can  the  youthful  ears  but  catch  the  hymn, 

Can  the  hearts  its  lesson  glean, 
With  what  wealth  of  soul  to  the  world  they'll  go 
From  that  earth-walled  school  room,  cramped  and  low, 

'Mid  the  hills  of  lustrous  green. 


A  SONNET. 


YON  peaks  that  Titan-like  so  high  uplift 
Their  lordly  heads  above  the  rain  and  mist, 
Seen  by  a  rich  supernal  splendor  kissed; 

Some  solar  gold  seems  o'er  their  sides  to  sift, 

As  glimpse  we  catch  through  lazy  cloudlet's  rift; 
But  those  whose  paths  do  summitward  insist 
Bring  naught  from  all  the  slopes  that  there  exist 

But  clay  —  dead  clay,  like  that  of  lowland's  drift. 

So  fortune's  favored  sons  have  to  our  eyes 
Some  seeming  tinge  of  glory  half  divine, 

Yet  Time,  all-undeceiving  guide,  denies 

That  they  but  with  a  borrowed  luster  shine  — 

The  dust  in  which  their  souls  so  proudly  reign 

Is  counterpart  of  ours  that  walks  the  plain. 


billie  fl.  Kellam. 


CARDINAL   NEWMAN. 


THROUGH  dusky  arches  floats  thy  pleading,  hymn. 

Till  all  the  air 
Grows  tremulous  for  light  o'er  pathways  dim; 

The  waves  of  prayer, 
Led  by  the  glory  of  the  Eternal  Day, 
Break  at  thy  feet  which  late  have  found  the  way. 

Thrice  happy  them  beyond  these  boundaries 

Of  doubt  and  sin, 
Whose  adamantine  crags  forbidding  rise 

O'er  fens  within, 

Where  many  a  peril  waits  the  unwary  soul, 
So  slowly  faring  toward  the  heavenly  goal. 

For  thee  the  angels'  smile,  the  cloudless  day, 

The  harps  of  gold, 
Before  whose  strains  earth's  shadows  flee  away; 

Ere  back  hath  rolled 
The  tide  of  prayer  to  these  dull  shores  of  night, 

Strew  them  thereon  some  gleams  of  kindly  light. 

(64) 


ie  Corner. 


THE  GREAT   DELIVERANCE. 

CALM  Egypt  slept.      The  veil  of  heavy  night 
Hung  darkly  'tween  the  desert  and  the  sky. 
Above  the  sleeping  land  that  dreamed  no  harm, 
The  sullen  clouds  bent  low  and  threateningly, 
And  through  the  darkness  and  the  silence  deep 
No  voice  of  solemn  warning  breathed  aloud: 
"Prepare  to  meet  thy  God."     The  soft  night  wind, 
That  crept  from  house  to  house  with  noiseless  tread, 
Repeated  not:  "Thy  first-born  all  must  die." 
The  bird  that  moved  upon  the  midnight  bough 
Said  not:  "The  hour  is  come"  —  nor  yet  the  stars 
That  stood  above  the  land.      The  night  wore  on, 
And  Egypt  slept. 

The  night  wore  slowly  on, 
And  Israel,  by  the  dimly  burning  light, 
Did  watch  with  anxious  heart.     The  lamb  was  slain 
And  on  the  lintel  had  the  blood  been  struck ; 

The  cloth  was  spread ;  the  hurried  meal  was  passed. 

(65) 


66  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

With  girded  loins  and  ready-sandaled  feet, 

The  eager  bondsmen  waited,  longed  and  hoped — - 

They  knew  not  what. 

And  now  the  hour  was  come. 
The  murky  veil  of  night  was  torn  by  wings 
Of  God's  destroying  angel  swooping  down 
To  smite  the  land  —  and  Egypt  slept  no  more. 
A  sudden  cry  broke  on  the  air.     'T  was  not 
The  anguish  of  a  single  stricken  heart: 
It  rang  from  house  to  house,  and  swelling  rose, 
A  mournful  chorus,  a  funereal  wail, — 
The  voice  of  Egypt  mourning  her  first-born. 
The  angel  passed.     Death  hovered  in  his  wake, 
But  Israel's  blood-stained  door  was  left  uncrossed. 
Night  wore  away.     The  stars  above  the  land 
Went  dimly  out;  and  lo!  the  rising  sun, 
Whose  latest  dying  ray  had  looked  on  slaves, 
Saw  Israel  out  of  bondage  —  free  at  last. 


Years,  ages  have  rolled  by.     A  deeper  night 
Enfolds  the  land  in  darkness  and  in  gloom. 
Above  a  careless  world  that  dreams  no  harm, 
The  clouds  of  sin  stoop  low  and  threateningly 
And  justice  whets  her  keen  avenging  aword. 
Still  Egypt  sleeps.      God's  awful  warning  words, 
"The  day  thou  eat'st  thereof  thou'lt  surely  die," 
Forgotten  are.     The  scornful  idler  laughs, 
Unheedful  that  the  hour  is  drawing  nigh. 
O  men!  O  brothers!  are  you  faithful,  true? 


HATTIE  HORNER.  67 

Your  candles,  are  they  burning?     Do  you  watch 

With  girded  loins,  with  anxious,  hopeful  hearts? 

The  Lamb  is  slain;  and  if  His  saving  blood 

Be  on  your  lives,  the  angel  will  pass  by, 

And  with  the  rising  sun  you  '11  quit 

Your  bondage  for  the  precious  Promised  Land. 


KANSAS:   1874  —  1884. 


(Written  upon  the  departure  of  the  corn  train  from  El  Dorado,  for  the  relief  of  the  Ohio 
flood  sufferers,  April  6th,  1884.  ) 


!  874  —  PER   ASrERA. 
CHEERLESS  prairie  stretching  southward, 

Barren  prairie  stretching  north; 
Not  a  green  herb,  fresh  and  sturdy, 

From  the  hard  earth  springing  forth; 
Every  tree  bereft  of  foliage, 

Every  shrub  devoid  of  life, 
And  the  two  great  ills  seemed  blighting 

All  things  in  their  wasting  strife. 

As  the  human  heart,  in  anguish, 

Sinks  beneath  the  stroke  of  fate, 
So  at  last,  despairing,  weary, 

Bowed  the  great  heart  of  our  .State; 
She  had  seen  her  corn  blades  wither 

'Neath  the  hot  wind's  scorching  breath; 
She  had  seen  the  wheat  heads  bending 

To  the  stilly  of  cruel  death. 


68  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

She  had  seen  the  plague  descending 

Through  the  darkened,  stifling  air, 
And  she  bent  her  head  in  sorrow, 

Breathing  forth  a  fervent  prayer; 
And  the  fierce  winds,  growing  fiercer, 

Kissed  to  brown  her  forehead  fair, 
While  the  sun  shone  down  unpitying 

On  the  brownness  of  her  hair. 


Then  she  looked  into  the  future, 

Saw  the  winter,  ruthless,  bold, 
Bringing 'her  disheartened  people 

Only  hunger,  want  and  cold; 
Looking,  saw  her  barefoot  children 

Walk  where  snow  sprites  shrink  to  tread; 
Listening,  heard  their  child  lips  utter 

Childish  prayers  for  daily  bread. 

Low  she  bowed  her  head,  still  thinking 

O'er  her  people's  woes  and  weal, 
And  the  ones  anear  her  only 

Heard  the  words  of  her  appeal; 
Send  that  faint  cry  onward,  outward, 

Swift  as  wire  wings  can  bear: 
"Sisters,  help  me,  or  I  perish  — 

Heaven  pity  my  despair!" 


HA  TTIE  t  IIORNER.  69 

1884  — AD  ASTRA. 

Verdant  wheat  fields  stretching-  southward, 

Fruitful  orchards  east  and  west; 
Xot  a  spot  in  all  the  prairie 

That  the  springtime  has  not  blessed; 
Every  field  a  smiling  promise, 

Every  home  an  Eden  fair, 
And  the  angels  —  Peace  and  Plenty — 

vStrewing  blessings  everywhere. 

As  the  heart  of  Nature  quivers 

At  the  touch  of  springtime  fair, 
vSo  along  the  State's  wide  being 

Thrilled  the  answer  to  her  prayer. 
She  has  seen  her  dauntless  people 

Ten  times  turn  and  sow  the  soil; 
She  has  seen  the  same  earth  answer 

Ten  times  to  their  faithful  toil. 


She  has  felt  the  ripe  fruit  falling 

In  her  lap  from  bended  limbs; 
She  has  heard  her  happy  children 

Shouting  their  thanksgiving  hymns; 
She  has  seen  ten  golden  harvests; 

Now,  with  grateful  joy  complete, 
.She  has  poured  the  tenth,  a  guerdon, 

At  her  benefactors'  feet. 


KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

Thou  can'st  not  forget,  O  Kansas, 

All  thine  own  despair  and  woe; 
Who  hath  long  and  keenly  suffered 

Can  the  tenderest  pity  show ; 
Not  in  vain  the  needy  calleth  — 

Charity  her  own  repays, 
And  "thy  bread,  cast  on  the  waters, 

Will  return  ere  many  days." 

Peace,  thine  angel,  pointeth  upward, 

Where  the  gray  clouds  break  away; 
And  athwart  the  azure  heavens 

Shineth  forth  Hope's  placid  ray; 
Look  to  heaven  and  to  the  future  — 

Grieve  no  longer  o'er  the  past; 
Through  thy  trials,  God  bless  thee,  Kansas, 

See,  the  stars  appear  .at  last! 


SELECTIONS   FROM   "ILA." 


ANI>  on  and  on  she  read  till  it  was  done, — 
This  tale  of  sacrifice  and  inward  strife, 
And  anguish  deep  and  self-forgetting  love, — 
Till  "Passed  the  strong,  heroic  soul  away." 
Then,  with  a  sigh,  she  laid  the  volume  down 
And  there  was  silence.     Nina  broke  it  first. 
"If  Annie  had  been  true  to  him,"  she  said, 
"A  little  longer,  —  but  a  year  or  more, — 
The  story  might  have  ended  well.     Oh,  why 


I-IATTIE  HORNER.  7 

Will  faith  decay  when  hearts  have  but  to  wait?" 
"  The  sorest  trial  that  Love  is  called  to  bear 

Is  waiting,  hopeless  waiting,"  Cecil  said, 
"And  Rutherford  perhaps  was  right,  if  Hope 

So  well  sustains  the  heart  of  him  who  waits. 

For  otherwise,  throughout  the  waiting  time, 

Must  Love  feed  on  itself  and  wear  away." 

Then  spoke  Rasalle: 

"Fie  on  the  changeful  heart, 

That  touched  by  Love  and  bound  by  Honor's  ties, 
Cannot  be  true  an  half  score  years  or  more. 
And  what  though  Hope  should  set?     I  know  a  flower 
That,  nodding  to  the  westward-sloping  sun, 
With  steadfast  purpose  turns  before  the  dawn 
To  greet  his  entrance  through  the  eastern  gates. 
And  what  though  Love  should  ebb?     Does  not  the  shell 
That's  flung  upon  the  dry  and  senseless  sand 
Forever  keep  the  -wooing  of  the  sea 
Within  its  heart?      I  know  a  Book  that  says: 
'Pay  that  which  thou  hast  vowed;  'tis  better  far 
Thou  shouldst  not  vow,  than  vow  and  pay  it  not.' 
And  we  were  right,  for  it  is  Constancy 
That  best  sustains  the  heart  of  him  who  waits." 

"But  what  is  this  you  sanction?"  Nina  cried, 
"A  hopeless  waiting,  —  Honor  stripped  of  Love, 
The  payment  of  —  it  might  be — light  made  vows, 
Mere  steadfastness  of  purpose,  —  nothing  more. 
Perchance  some  strange  perplexities  would  rise, 


>j2  A'AXSAS   COLLECTION. 

And  even  sorrow  and  misfortune  dire, 

To  haunt  the  keeping  of  some  thoughtless  vow. 

For  human  destinies  have  countless  threads, 

And  each  life  has  its  pattern  planned  of  God. 

How  can  we  know  if  through  our  neighbor's  web 

Are  woven  threads  of  our  own  weal  or  woe? 

And  who  can  stop  his  busy  Weaver's  hand 

To  find  if  all  the  woof  be  his  or  not  ? 

And  who  so  rash  to  break  or  tie  one  thread  ?'' 

"Vows  are  not  lightly  made  in  Honor's  realm.' 
Rasalle  made  quick  reply,  "  The  Mount  of  Life 
is  steep  and  high,  and  many  faint  midway. 
Sw6et  manna  falls  in  plenty  at  its  foot; 
Hope's  dews  are  bount'ous;  Joy  breathes  on  the  air. 
Here  bide  the  dwellers  of  the  valley  land, 
Content  to  grope  their  narrow  twilight  way, 
To  live,  to  die.     Here  dwell  th'  inconstant  hearts, 
The  restless  murm'ring  people  who  cry  out: 
'Up,  make  us  gods!' — who  worship  but  by  sight. 
Ah!  Love  itself  can  live  but  half  the  way, 
Upon  the  breathless  heights  great  souls  must  climb, 
If  they  would  reach  the  goal.     Yea,  there  's  a  point 
Where  friendships,  human  sympathies,  and  all 
Save  Duty's  self  must  fall  at  last  below 
The  snow  line  of  that  rare  and  lofty  realm. 
But  oh!  the  trumpet  of  the  Voice  divine, 
From  out  the  thund'rings  of  the  awful  cloud, 
Speaks  only  to  the  fasting  soul  that  stands 
On  Honor's  Sinai,  serene,  alone!" 


bee 


SELECTIONS  FROM  "RESURGAM,"  A  DECORATION 
DAY  POEM. 


EARTH  unto  earth! 

Such  is  and  has  been  since  the  dawn  of  time, 
The  sum  of  knowledge  and  the  end  of  life. 

Dust  unto  dust ! 

No  power  is  potent  to  bear  down  the  wall  — 
Xo  mortal  vision  e'er  hath  pierced  the  gloom, 
Or  passed  the  portal  to  what  lies  beyond. 

Ashes  to  ashes! 

The  cycle  ended,  once  again  the  earth 
Takes  up  her  burden  to  renew  the  round. 

And  is  this  all  ?     Must  earth  forever  claim, 
With  mandate  changeless,  all  there  is  of  life? 


74 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

The  grave,  in  closing  o'er  the  body  dead, 

Shut  out  forever  from  both  sight  and  sense 

The  form  and  being  of  what  once  was  man? 

Is  there  not  something  left  of  life  —  some  thought 

Or  aspiration  which  survives  the  tomb; 

Some  hope  or  purpose  —  some  undying  love, 

To  span  the  chasm  between  life  and  death? 

****** 

What  do  we  honor  by  these  solemn  rites? 

The  dust  and  ashes  of  the  earthly  forms, 

Dissolved  and  scattered  at  the  touch  of  death? 

Can  these  see  beauty  in  the  bloom  of  flowers? 

Are  these  attuned  to  harmony  of  song? 

Or  hear  they  words  of  sacred,  holy  praver? 

Our  homage  rather,  with  its  song  and  praise, 

Like  incense  rising  from  an  altar  fire, 

Ascending  upwards  from  the  lifeless  clay, 

Seeks  out  its  object  in  the  vital  spark 

Which  glows  with  radiance  of  immortal  light  — 

The  MAN  that  liveth  when  the  body  dies! 

The  glorious  purpose  that  inspired  the  life  — 

The  aspirations  toward  the  good  and  true  — 

The  deeds  of  valor  —  and  the  acts  of  love  — 

The  priceless  offerings  at  freedom's  shrine! 

These  we  may  honor  —  these  be  deathless  things  — 

Ourselves  we  honor,  while  we  honor  them. 

Earth  unto  earth! 

And  yet  it  is  not  all  —  there  still  remains, 
Surviving  matter  in  its  changing  forms, 


/.   LEE  KNIGHT. 

That  inspiration  which  defies  the  worm ! 
A  fadeless  amaranth  that  blooms  for  aye 
In  wreath  immortal  round  the  martyr's  brow! 

Dust  unto  dust! 

But  still  like  sunlight  through  the  rifted  clouds, 
Above  the  grave  a  golden  halo  gleams, 
Which  lights  us  onward  like  a  beacon  star 
To  higher,  holier,  purer  thoughts  of  life! 

Ashes,  to  ashes  ! 

But  still,  like  fountain  from  the  smitten  rock, 
Or  crystal  waters  from  a  hidden  spring, 
There  comes  a  current  from  the  dews  of  death 
Which  gently  laves  the  fevered  brow  of  care, 
Which  stills  the  throbbing  of  the  pulse  of  strife 
And  turns  the  thought,  in  restful  sense  of  peace, 
To  contemplation  of  the  Great  Unknown, 
The  sum  of  wisdom  —  and  the  Source  of  All! 


APOTHEOSIS  HISTORIC. —  THE  UNSEEN  REALMS. 

A   CHRISTMAS    POEM. 


"THERE  's  a  magical  realm  where  the  sun  goes  down, 

Behind  the  blue  sea  in  the  west; 
Give  me  ships  to  sail  in  the  name  of  your  crown,  • 
Give  me  warrant  to  claim  your  majesty's  own, 

And  I  will  go  forth  to  the  quest !" 


A'AXSAS   COLLECTION. 

So  plead  the  Genoese  —  the  brave — the  ideal, 

The  Argonaut,  hopeful  and  grand ; 
And  the  queen  made  reply  to  that  daring  appeal  — 
"I  pledge  my  own  jewels,  the  crown  of  Castile; 
Go!   find  me  that  beautiful  land  !" 

The  warrant  was  signed,  and  the  mariner  brave, 

With  a  willing,  yet  doubting  band, 
Sailed  afar  in  his  ships  o'er  the  pathless  wave, 
Sailed  onward  and  westward,  till  e'en  he  misgave 
Of  finding  the  mystical  land. 

On  the  altars  of  hope  the  fires  burn  low  — 
The  sun  still  goes  down  in  the  sea; 
Yet  courage,  brave  hearts!  ye  are  not  to  foreknow 
What  the  magical  realm  hath  in  store  to  bestow; 
Its  glories  ye  may  not  foresee. 

Press  ye  forward  in  faith,  for  the  morning  light 

Yet  may  gild  with  its  golden  sheen 
The  beautiful  land  that  lies  hidden  from  sight, 
And  fruition  of  hope  may  your  patience  requite,* 
In  that  magical  realm  unseen. 

At  last,  from  aloft,  comes  the  glad  crv  of  cheer, 

"Land  in  sight,"  and  the  weary  one, 
Who  erst  radiant  with  hope,  or  trembling  with  fear, 
Had  so  patiently  sailed  o'er  the  pathless  mere, 
The  goal  of  his  hope  had  won. 


/.   LEE  KNIGHT. 

"There's  a  beautiful  realm  that  ye  have  not^jeen, 

There  's  a  city  with  streets  of  gold ; 
There  are  valleys  that  bloom  in  perpetual  green, 
There  are  harvests  full  ripe  for  the  reapers  to  glean, 
In  that  land  ye  are  yet  to  behold. 

"In  that  realm  there  is  rest  for  the  weary  hands, 

For  the  toilers  whose  work  is  done; 
On  the  shores  of  its  rivers  gleam  golden  sands, 
On  its  mountains  a  temple  eternal  stands, 
Whose  altar  fires  burn  as  the  sun. 

"In  that  radiant  land  shall  the  blind  eyes  see, 

By  the  light  of  an  endless  day, 

And'  the  nations  be  healed,  the  bond  be  made  free, 
And  the  fountains  of  life,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea, 

Shall  flow  on  forever  and  aye." 

So  spake  the  old  prophets  of  Israel's  race, 
The  sages,  the  wise  and  the  true  — 
And  their  message  of  hope  to  new  light  gave  a  place 
In  life's  darkness,  as  stars  in  the  darkness  of  space, 
Give  their  light  from  beyond  the  blue. 

"We  will  seek  this  new  realm  by  land  and  by  sea, 
By  fire  and  by  sword,  night  and  day; 

Our  flocks  and  our  herds  at  your  service  shall  be; 

Before  us  the  tribes  and  the  nations  shall  flee  — 
Go!  lead  us,  we  know  not  the  wav!" 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

So  answered  the  legions,  yet  sought  they  in  vain, 

They  found  not  the  Kingdom  of  Light; 
Their  ships  sailed  afar  o'er  both  river  and  main  — 
They  marched  over  mountains,  through  valley  and  plain. 
No  tidings  came  out  of  the  nijjht ! 


Dread  pestilence,  famine,  and  red-visaged  war, 

As  age  after  age  they  press  on  — 
Till  lo!  from  aloft,  through  the  portals  ajar, 
Gleams  out  o'er  the  darkness  the  Bethlehem  Star, 
To  tell  of  the  coming  of  dawn! 


As  that  mystical  realm  beyond  the  blue  sea 

Was  seen  in  the  vision  of  old, 
So  that  realm  unseen,  in  the  time  yet  to  be, 
Beyond  the  dark  river,  in  visions  we  see, 
In  that  city  with  streets  of  gold  ! 

We  are  voyagers  who  sail  o'er  a  stormy  main; 

We  are  seekers  for  realms  unseen; 
As  the  sower  who  soweth  shall  reap  again, 
Either  harvest  of  thistles,  or  golden  grain, 

So,  also,  our  harvest  we  glean! 


/.   LEE  KNIGHT. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  "TWO  PICTURES:   A 
CENTENNIAL  POEM." 


WEDDED  to  Freedom  on  her  hundredth  birthday! 

Mature  in  years,  and  life  aglow  with  health, 
Bright  buds  of  hope  are  blooming  on  her  pathway 

Prophetic  promise  of  her  future  wealth! 
Her  home  —  a  continent  of  God's  creating. 

Her  dower — primeval  Nature's  boundless  store 
Of  soil  productive,  and  rich  mines  awaiting 

To  lay  their  buried  treasures  at  her  door. 
Her  pride  —  the  mem'ry  of  the  noble  martyrs, 

Whose  blood  baptized  the  realm  of  liberty. 
Her  strength  —  a  serried  host  of  sons  and  daughters, 

Whose  hearts  and  arms  are  nerved  by  loyalty. 
Her  glory  —  freedom  of  the  humblest  person 

Who  breathes  unfettered  from  the  taint  of  crime. 
Her  power — the  written  law,  blest  Freedom's  charter, 

That  guards  her  people's  rights  in  every  clime. 
Her  shrine  —  the  sanctuary  of  myriad  hearth-stones 

Whence  prayer  or  praise  ascends.     Her  faith  —  the  creed 
That  God  vouchsafes  to  every  soul  created, 

Such  free  oblation  as  it  choose  or  need. 
Her  wealth  —  the  wisdom  of  an  age  supernal. 

Her  hope  —  the  genius  of  the  good  and  true. 
Her  flag  —  a  symbol  of  the  stars  eternal, 

That  deck  the  vaulted  dome  of  heaven's  blue! 


So  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Her  trust  —  the  keeping  of  the  truth  immortal 

That  Right  and  Justice,  with  their  chastening  rod, 

Are  guardian  angels  of  the  waiting  portal 
That  opens  upward  to  the  throne  of  God  ! 

Our  Mother!  be  thy  future  destiny 

To  wield  the  scepter  of  a  world  made  free! 


Kro^n. 


INVOCATION  TO  SLEEP. 

NIGHT'S  dull  silences  are  throbbing  from  the  mountain  to 
the  sea, 

Thou  hast  lulled  a  world's  wild  tumult,  yet  thou  comest  not 
to  me. 

Lightly  on  my  evening  pillow,  whitely  on  my  tired  hand, 
Creeps  a  wandering  wave  of  moonrise,  ere  it  burnish  all  the 
land. 

From  the  purple-hooded  midnight  star  eyes  languish  into 
mine, 

With  the  dew  of  tender  memories  dripping  all  their  down 
ward  shine. 

Till  the  tempted  life  within  me  swoon,  beneath  the  sensuous 

rain  — 
Swoon  a  moment,  ere  it  flutter  back  to  wakeful  hours  again. 

And  my  soul,  impaled,  and  panting  'mong  the  captors,  pleads 
with  thee, 

That  thine  arms  uplift  and  bear  me  safely  'cross  the  thought- 
ridged  sea; 

-6  (81) 


82  A'.IA'S.IS   COLLECTION. 

Through  the  gates  of  the  unreal,  on  whose  rare  and  radiant 

shore, 
Flash  unnumbered  shapes  of  beauty,  fair  as  Eden  ever  wore. 

And  our  lost  loves  walk  and  wander,  by  the  waters  cool  and 

clear, 
Till  forgotten  how  the  passions  sweep  their  sorrow  tempests 

here. 

Come  to   me,  invisible  charmer!    from   the   shadows   come 

to  me! 
Night's  dull  silences  are  throbbing  from  the  mountain  to  the 

sea. 

Flower  and  leaf  nod  tremulously  to  the  wind's  low  lullaby; 
Bird  and  bee  their  wings  have  folded  —  sweetly  restful  all 
but  I. 

Summer   woods   have   ceased    their   waltzing  —  hushed   and 

slumbrous  all  the  land; 
Only  elfins  dance  and  dally  o'er  the  moon-bedi/zened  sand. 

Through  the  dim  and  dewy  midnight,  coy  enchanter,  steal  to 

me  — 
Steal  from  out  thy  mystic  hiding,  whether  cloud  or  wave 

it  be; 

Whether  weird   and  witching  moonbeam,  or  the  vapor  on 

the  hill, 
In  thy  chaste  embrace  enfold  me,  that  my  spirit  roam  at  will. 

* 

Where  but  blooms  immortal  brighter  o'er  some  rare  and  ra 
diant  shore, 
And,  from  lute  of  unseen  minstrel,  music  quiver  evermore; 


PHILIP  KROHN.  83 

And  our  loved  and  lost  ones  linger  by  the  waters  cool  and 
clear, 

Till  forgotten  all   the  bondage  that  enslaves  life's  purpose 
here. 


A  YEAR'S  REVIEW. 


FAILURE  and  only  failure, 

Each  step  of  the  crooked  way, 
And  the  wrecks — I  dare  not  count  them — • 

On  the  shore  of  every  day. 

Though  the  mist  seemed  shaped  as  goblins, 

In  the  moon's  uncanny  light, 
As  I  glance  with  a  touch  of  heart  ache, 

O'er  the  backward  paths  to-night, 

Failure  and  only  failure, 

Over  and  over  again  — 
^Vith  my  high  resolves  dismembered, 

And  lost  on  the  reckless  main. 

And  the  words  I  should  have  spoken, 
And  the  deeds  I  should  have  done, 

Confront  me  at  every  gateway, 
In  the  new  paths  just  begun. 

I  have  said  that  my  fields  should  blossom  — 

The  fields  I  had  thickly  sown 
With  seeds  of  a  noble  promise; 

But  a  wind,  from  some  cloud  outblown, 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Breathed  over  them  and  they  withered, 
And  my  soul  cried  out  with  pain! 

For  it  was  all  failures,  failures, 
Over  and  over  again. 

In  the  yesterdays  that  vanished 
Ere  yet  I  could  call  them  mine, 

They  were  gilded  cups  full  brimming 
With  white,  rare-flavored  wine. 

They  had  dripped  from  joy's  pure  vintage, 
As  the  gales  of  hope  swung  by; 

But  others  the  nectar  tasted, 
With  a  smiling  lip  —  not  I. 

Shall  the  new  tides  dashing  onward, 
'Gainst  the  rocks  where  dashed  the  old, 

Yet  toss  on  the  shore  of  gladness, 
For  my  reaching  hands  to  hold? 

Or  shall  a  bolder  grasp  it, 

And  my  own  be  empty  still  ? 
Gray  tides  on  the  cold  sands  breaking, 

For  your  sweet  wines  I  am  ill. 

Jf  I  knew  there  were  shoals  in  waiting 

To  grapple  the  careless  keel 
Of  my  bark  o'er  the  young  year's  currents, 

Till  with  wounds  it  writhe  and  reel, 


PHI  LIP  KROILV. 


As  a  dove  by  an  arrow  stricken, 

I  should  shrink  from  each  waiting  morn; 
For  more  than  the  scent  of  roses, 

The  sting  of  the  rose  tree's  thorn. 


AUTUMN. 

Xow  THE  shadows  lengthen  early, 

And  the  birds  that  with  us  stay, 
111  at  ease  and  anxious  seeming, 

Sing  not  as  they  do  in  May; 
For  the  winds  suggest  the  keenness 

Of  the  winter  days  so  nigh, 
And  the  trees  stand  bare  and  lonely 

As  the  leaves  drop  off  and  die. 

Xow  the  squirrels  are  most  busy, 

Whisking  here  and  leaping  there; 
Gleam  their  colors  in  the  sunlight, 

Sounds  their  chatter  on  the  air; 
And  with  busy  feet  and  restless 

Lay  they  up  their  winter  store, 
'Gainst  the  time  when  snow  will  cover 

Sheltered  wood  and  open  moor. 

Now  the  denseness  of  the  forest 
Lessens  as  the  days  speed  by, 

And,  in  search  of  game,  the  sportsman 
Listens  to  the  quail's  lone  cry. 


86  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

And  church  steeples  in  the  distance, 
And  towns  lying  far  away, 

And  blue  lakes,  gleam  before  us, 
That  lay  hid  for  many  a  dav. 

Ah!  when  summer's  day  is  ended, 

And  the  strength  of  spring  is  spent, 
And  the  frame  of  man,  so  sturdy, 

'Neath  the  weight  of  time  is  bent, 
May  not  man  pass  like  the  autumn, 

Fading  out  in  colors  rare, 
And  from  heights  of  contemplation, 

See  a  future  large  and  fair. 


Mrs.  6.  §>.  Gafon  boomis. 


OUR   HOLIDAY. 


WE  'RE  very  "tired,  my  heart  and  I." 
So  long  we  've  toiled,  and  all  in  vain, 
We  fear; — but  just  beyond  our  pain 

We  see,  beneath  a  brighter  sky, 
Our  holiday. 

Shelter,  and  rest,  and  all  good  cheer, 
Are  there.     Ah  me,  'tis  hard  to  wait! 
Hasten,  O  Death,  and  ope  the  gate, 

So  we  may  have,  in  that  high  sphere, 
Our  holiday. 

VIA   ClRUCIS. 


WITHOUT,  life's  shadows  darkly  fall, 
Gloomy,  and  gray,  and  chill ; 

Within,  the  air  is  all  aglow; 
Within,  my  spirit's  ill 
Is  healed  by  Holy  Will; 

Without,  I  ne'er  could  find  a  balm 

To  heal  the  wounds  it  bears. 

(37) 


88  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

And  yet  I  know  that  prayer  and  praise 
Are  not  the  whole  of  life; 

The  soul  must  gird  its  armor  on 
And  go  amidst  the  strife 
With  fiery  dangers  rife  — 

Must  light  its  way  to  heaven's  gate, 
A  soldier  of  the  cross. 


A  BATTLE  WELL  LOST. 


A  theory  may  be  abandoned;  a  conviction  must  be  fouyhl  im.^Bcck- 
•with, 

"The  soldier  of  truth  never  surrenders;  his  ship's  colors  are  nailed  to  the 
mast." 

Ix  cloudless  skies  the  May-day  sun  shone  fair, 

The  while  with  steadfast,  peaceful  look  he  said: 
"Is  there  not  room  among  the  holy  dead 

For  him  who  does  his  best  ?     A  few  must  dare, 

And  vanquished  fall,  and  thus  the  way  prepare; 
Then,  hosts  to  Truth's  slow  victory  are  led;" 
And  forth  with  most  unselfish  hopes  he  sped, 

With  earnest  faiths,  and  with  ideals  rare. 

In  clouded  skies  the  wintry  sun  shone  dim, 
The  while  I  watched  a  single  ship  outbrave 

A  hostile  fleet.     .     .     .     The  ship  went  down  at  last, 
With  cannon's  roar  in  place  of  burial  hymn, 

With  all  her  colors  flying  at  the  mast, 
And  he  who  nailed  them  there,  beneath  the  wave. 


prank  oA.  Marshall. 


A  MOTHERLESS  GIRL. 

On,  why  cannot  mothers  look  down  from  above, 
And  shelter  and  shield  with  their  infinite  love 
The  orphaned  and  desolate  left  on  the  earth, 
Too  lately  esteeming  and  knowing  their  worth  ? 
If  Heaven  e'er  weeps  at  a  sight  that  is  sad, 
A  sight  that  would  render  its  gladness  less  glad, 
'T  is  when,  in  the  roar  of  the  world's  busy  whirl, 
It  weeps  at  the  sight  of  a  motherless  girl ! 

No  love  of  a  father,  tho'  tender  and  warm, 

Can  shelter  and  shield  from  the  world's  beating  storm. 

What  touch  is  so  tender,  what  voice  is  so  dear  — 

The  touch  and  the  tones  of  the  one  we  revere  ? 

What  hand  can  smooth  for  us  the  pillow  of  care, 

And  pluck  from  our  pathway  the  thorns  that  grow  there  ? 

God  pity  and  guide,  in  the  world's  busy  whirl, 

That  orphan  of  orphans  —  a  motherless  girl ! 


^O  A'ANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Ah  !  priceless  and  placeless  that  mother  that  left 
Alone  and  defenseless  that  daughter  bereft ! 
.In  hours  of  affliction,  in  seasons  of  care, 
When  burdens  grow  heavy  —  too  heavy  to  bear, 
Oh,  where,  in  that  season  of  sorrow,  can  go 
The  heart  that  is  tempted  to  yield  to  its  woe  ? 
Save  God's,  there  's  no  strength  'mid  the  world's  busy  whirl 
To  shield  and  to  shelter  a  motherless  girl  ! 

Though  far  she  may  stray  from  the  ways  of  her  youth, 
From  Purity's  path,  from  sweet  Virtue  and  Truth, 
Though  sin  may  take  from  her  the  flower  of  her  fame, 
And  plant  in  its  place  the  hot  blister  of  shame, 
Yet  God,  in  his  mercy,  writes  after  her  name, 
In  the  book  of  her  guilt  and  the  record  of  blame, 
Till  the  Judgment  the  tear-blotted  record  unfurl, 
This  token  of  pardon:  "A  MOTHERLESS  GIRL." 


MARBLE  AND  SAND. 

AN  act  of  wrong  had  steeled  my  wounded  heart, 
Whose  trusting  faith  had  been  betrayed 
By  him  on  whom  that  trusting  faith  was  staid; 

And  fierce  resentment  ruled  the  better  part 

That  cried,  "Forgive  !"     With  firm,  relentless  hand, 
That  drew  its  angry  strength  from  trampled  pride, 

I  reared  a  high,  enduring  stone,  to  stand 

Throughout  the  passing  years;  and  on  its  side 


FRANK  A.   MARSHALL. 

I  blazoned  all  the  tale  of  trust  betrayed. 
But  all  the  waters  of  repentant  tears, 
And  beating  surge  of  all-effacing  years, 

Could  not  erase  the  record  I  had  made. 

And  when  my  burning  anger  cooled  to  gentle  blame, 

That  chiseled  record  fanned  it  into  flame! 

A  gentle  deed,  that  should  have  blessed  my  lot, 
And  taught  me  to  forgive  and  made  me  kind, 
Was  scarce  remembered  in  my  anger  blind, 

But  ere  it  had  been  done  was  straight  forgot. 

For,  burning  with  the  hate  of  outraged  pride, 
I  wrote  the  deed  with  careless,  heedless  hand, 

Not  where  the  lasting  stone  the  years  defied, 
But  in  the  changing,  ever-shifting  sand. 

And  when  the  billows  of  the  passing  years 

O'er  both  the  written  records  swept  and  rolled, 
The  gentle  tale,  that  would  have  then  consoled, 

Was  washed  away  with  my  repentant  tears. 

The  deed  I  would  forget  was  still  in  lasting  stone; 

The  deed  that  I  would  still  remember,  — gone  ! 

Ah,  so  it  is !     In  hard,  enduring  stone 

We  grave  our  wrongs  with  anger-guided  hands; 

While  gentle  deeds  are  written  on  the  sands, 
To  be  forgotten  ere  those  deeds  are  done. 
On  both  the  stories  fall  repentant  tears; 

But  one  remains,  to  mock  our  keen  regret, 
Unsoftened  by  the  wearing  fall  of  years; 

And  one  is  gone  that  we  would  not  forget ! 


91 


92 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Ah !  better  far  we  grave  the  actions  kind 
In  granite  lines,  with  eager,  grateful  hand, 
And  write  our  wrongs  upon  the  fickle  sand ; 

And  when  we  read  the  written  archives,  find 

The  tale  of  Love  triumphant  o'er  the  surge  of  years; 

The  tale  of  Hate  effaced  by  gentle  tears  ! 


SWEETER  AND  DEARER. 


OH  !  dear  to  our  hearts  are  the  friends  that  adore  us, 

Whom  tender  affection  esteems; 
But  dearer,  the  friends  that  have  journeyed  before  us 

To  the  shore  that  we  trend  in  our  dreams. 

Oh  !  sweet  are  the  warm  and  affectionate  presses 
That  strengthen  the  hearts  that  they  thrill; 

But  sweeter,  the  touch  of  the  spirit  caresses 
From  the  lips  that  are  silent  and  still. 

Oh  !  warm  is  the  clasp  of  the  thrilling  affection 

Of  hands  that  we  hold  in  our  own; 
But  dearer  by  far  is  the  sweet  recollection 

Of  the  clasp  of  the  hand  that  is  gone  ! 

How  prized  are  the  warm,  loving  glances  we  cherish, 
From  eyes  that  are  beaming  to-day; 

But  ne'er  from  our  hearts  can  the  memory  perish 
Of  the  smile  that  has  vanished  away. 


FRANK  A.  MARSHALL. 


93 


Though  footsteps  of  loved  ones  may  thrill  us  with  pleasure, 

And  gladden  the  hearts  that  are  sore, 
Our  spirits  more  fondly  the  memory  treasure 

Of  the  step  that  shall  thrill  us  no  more. 

Though  sweet  are  the  tones  of  the  tender  affection 

That  cheer  the  sad  spirits  they  thrill, 
Yet  sweet  through  our  souls  rings  the  dear  recollection 

Of  the  tones  of  the  voice  that  is  still. 

Though  fragrant  the  perfume  of  flowers  we  have  gathered 

From  gardens  of  pleasure  or  love, 
Oh  !  sweeter  the  fragrance  of  flowers  that  have  withered 

But  to  bloom  in  the  gardens  above. 

« 
Oh  !  tender  the  song  that  the  birdling  is  singing 

Of  melody  filling  the  air; 
But  sweeter,  the  music  through  memory  ringing 

Of  a  joy  that  has  changed  to  despair  ! 


Mood^. 


JOHN   BROWN. 


SAD  Linn!     Dark  plots  and  direful  things 
In  secret  hatched,  and  compacts  made 
In  the  vile  den  or  sickly  shade, 
And  writ  with  point  of  Slavery's  blade, 

In  bloody  book  which  Treason  brings. 

In  this  black  book  appears  the  name 
And  sentence  of  each  Freedom's  son  — 
Boldly  in  blood  the  letters  run, 
In  the  fierce  hand  of  Hamilton. 

Now  stands  to  his  infernal  fame 

The  record  of  that  bloody  book . 

Eleven  blasts  from  hell  are  blown  — 
Eleven  teeth  of  dragon  sown  — 
Eleven  sons  like  grass  cut  down; 

And  Hydra  of  his  feast  partook. 

(95) 


A'AA'SAS  COLLECTION. 

Then  came  John  Brown  close  on  his  path, 
And  boldly  passing  to  his  den 
Him  struck  an  awful  blow,  and  when 
The  shackles  broke  and  fell  from  men 

He  writhed  and  roared  in  demon's  wrath. 

Eleven  slaves  are  now  set  free  — 

A  kindly  stroke  for  those  who  fell  — 

A  just  and  righteous  parallel  — 

Their  freedom  won,  and  strange  to  tell, 

Kansas  has  gained  her  liberty. 

Not  on  far  Afric's  burning  sand, 

When  age  on  age  has  come  and  gone, 
And  people  searching  in  the  throng 
Which  passing  centuries  prolong, 

Ask  for  some  hero  proud  and  grand, 

The  theme  for  master  sculptor's  hand 
Whose  ancient  glory  and  renown 
The  waiting  multitude  shall  crown, 
Will  there  remote  appear  John  Brown; 

But  will  be  found  in  every  land 

His  glory  heralded  by  seers  — 
In  marble  cut;  by  poet  sung; 
And  his  rude  image  shall  be  hung 
Round  the  charmed  neck,  and  every  tongue 

Shall  praise  him  as  the  saint  of  years. 


JOEL  MOODY. 

And  here,  in  Kansas,  we  shall  raise 
The  statue  of  undying  fame. 
With  sculptured  art,  we  shall  proclaim 
The  fond  memorial  of  his  name, 

Which  thus  shall  stand  and  speak  his  praise. 


The  man  —  the  sword  —  the  Hydra  slain  - 
The  hand  outstretched  to  greet 
The  needy  one  —  the  face  replete 
With  love  —  and,  underneath  his  feet, 

The  broken  links  of  Slavery's  chain. 


Bright  star  of  Kansas!     Now  thy  place 
Is  fixed:  a  brilliant  central  gem, 
In  Columbia's  diadem; 
Which,  like  the  star  of  Bethlehem, 

Points  out  a  savior  of  the  race. 


O  Slavery!  dire,  enraged;  if  you 

Are  doomed,  what  serves  to  now  rebel  ? 
What  serves  the  powers  that  wait  on  hell  ? 
You  sent  the  shaft  when  Sumpter  fell, 

Which,  on  recoil,  shall  pierce  you  through. 

— From  "The  Song  of  Kansas." 


9S 


A'AJVSAS   COLLECTION. 


THE  PATRIOT'S  LOVE. 

PROUD  Kansas!  known  on  land  and  sea; 
Happy  the  man  on  foreign  strand 
Who  hails  from  thee!     In  any  land 
On  earth,  a  Kansan  let  him  stand; 

This  name  shall  be  his  passport  free. 


Kansas!     I  love  thy  sacred  name, 

As  o'er  my  memory  sweeps  the  past; 
From  thy  dark,  deep  trouble  thou  hast 
Now  come  to  glorious  peace,  and  vast 

Domain,  and  everlasting  fame. 


I  dearly  love  thy  stately  frame; 

That  grand  physique  of  prairies  wide, 
Which,  like  some  undulating  tide 
Of  mighty  sea,  billows  in  pride' 

Thy  lovely  form,  and  breathes  thy  name. 

I  love  thy  soul  —  that  spark  divine, 

Which,  struck  from  the  Almighty  Mind, 
Illumines  earth  with  manners  kind, 
And  motives  pure,  and  laws  refined, 

And  justice  sure,  and  love  benign. 


JOEL  MOODY.  0,9 

The  home  of  freemen  thou  shalt  be, 
Where  patriot  footsteps  love  to  stray, 
And  to  thy  soil  their  homage  pay,  . 

Where  Virtue,  with  her  heavenly  ray, 

Doth  shine  in  sweetest  purity. 

And,  when  Time  comes  to  end  my  days, 
Chant  in  my  ear  some  old  refrain 
Of  patriot  song;  the  parting  pain 
Will  cease;  then  say:  "In  humble  strain 

lie  sang  for  Kansas  her  sweet  praise." 

—  From   "  The  Song  of  A'ansas." 


THE  TEAR. 

SHE,  weeping,  dropped  a  tear,  and  when  it  fell 
A  poet  caught  the  little  pearly  sphere 
And  questioned  it;  and  his  enraptured  ear 

Caught  up  the  things  which  it  began  to  tell. 

lie  heard  the  tone  of  solemn  sounding  knell 
O'er  a  departed  hope;  the  cry  of  fear; 
The  wail  of  anguish,  and  soft  sighings  dear, 

Which  make  the  lover's  lonely  bosom  swell. 

And  there  he  saw,  ensphered,  a  mother's  heart, 
Bleeding  for  her  lost  child;  and  open  grave, 

And  love  amid  the  trophies  of  his  dart, 
With  every  throb  of  passion  that  it  gave. 

All  heights  of  joy,  and  depths  of  woe,  were  here 

Encompassed  in  the  ocean  of  a  tear. 


I00  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 


YET  sweet  it  is  for  us  to  know 

That  flowers  do  live  beneath  the  snow; 

And  Winter  always  hath  its  Spring, 

When  flowers  will  bloom  and  birds  will  sing; 

And  souls  we  love  will  grow  more  fair, 

W'hen  silver  threads  come  in  the  hair. 

—  Moody. 


BUT  what  is  great  and  what  endures 
Is  built  by  all. 


— Moody. 


Patton. 


GRAPES  OF  ESCHCL. 

AT  the  borders  of  the  Promised  Land, 
Where  Jordan  spreads  her  shining  sand, 
They  camped  along  the  river  side 
And  saw  beyond  the  river's  tide 
The  grapes  of  Eschol  hanging  fair; 
But  even  then  they  did  not  dare 
To  enter  in  and  boldly  eat. 

They  sent  tl^e  spies  across  to  bring 
The  purple  globes  that  climb  and  cling 
Upon  Judea's  sunny  hills, 
And  all  their  musky  fragrance  spills 
As  incense  on  the  sun-steeped  air; 
They  longed  to  taste,  but  did  not  dare 
To  cross  the  Jordan  with  their  feet. 

Not  faith  enough  to  keep  the  track, 
And  so  the  dear  Lord  turned  them  back; 
Eschol's  sweet  grapes  they  could  not  win, 
Because  they  feared  to  enter  in. 

(101) 


102  KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

How  oft  we  stand  and  look  across 
To  Paradise,  and  count  the  cost, 
And  to  the  desert  turn  again. 

And  yet  how  often  we  might  eat 
The  fruits  of  "Beulah  Land,"  so  sweet; 
The  spies  bring  hack  the  clusters  rare, 
They  gather  in  our  nights  of   prayer; 
Come,  let  us  linger  on  the  shore, 
Until  we  cross  the  river  o'er 
And  lose  each  earthly  stain. 

Oh,  Eschol's  grapes,  I  press  thy  wine, 
Till  all  these  border  lands  of   mine 
Grow  sweeter,  fairer  as  I  drink; 
My  feet  but  linger  on  the  brink 
Of  Jordan's  bank;  I  soon  will  go 
Beyond  the  river's  narrow  flow, 
To  heaven's  emerald  plain* 


A  LUMP  OF  CLAY. 


ONLY  a  little  lump  of  clay. 

And  it  lies  in  the  potter's  hand  ; 

lie  looks  at  it,  he  looks  at  the  wheel, 

With  its  burnished  edge  of  sharpened  steel, 

Knows  how  the  cruel  touch  will  burn, 

Yet  will  hold  it  down  and  turn  and  turn; 


ELLEN  PATTON. 

Then  turn  and  turn  with  a  loving  touch  — 
The  clay  will  break  if  ground  too  much. 

A  well-shaped  vase,  made  from  the  clay, 
Again  't  is  poised  on  the  master's  hand ; 
"Good  wheel,  I  praise  thee  for  thy  share, 
But  little  vase,  there  is  more  to  bear. 
Thrust  into  the  flames  that  brightly  glow  — 
A  mighty  breath  on  the  fires  doth  blow, — 
Dost  think  me  a  master  hard  and  stern, 
As  I  thrust  you  in  to  burn  and  burn  ?" 

Would  you  know  it  now  for  the  lump  of  clay 

That  lately  lay  on  the  potter's  hand  ? 

The  flames  grew  cool  and  he  drew  it  out, 

Lovingly  then  he  turned  it  about. 

The  fire  had  given  an  added  grace, 

You  knew  by  the  smile  on  the  master's  face; 

What  if  the  vase  had  not  held  still 

While  the  cruel  fires  did  all  their  will  ? 

Once  but  a  lump  of  moistened  clay 

That  the  potter  could  toss  from  his  hand; 

Now  it  is  touched  with  the  royal  dyes 

That  mock  earth's  bloom  and  mirage  the  skies; 

You  might  almost  think  the  bird  would  soar 

Out  from  the  vase  and  up  from  the  door; 

A-  monarch's  hall  it  is  fit  to  grace, 

Since  it  felt  the  wheel,  and  the  fire's  embrace. 


103 


io4 


KAA'SAS   COLLECTION. 

Man  is  only  a  lump  of  clay, 

Till  the  Master  Potter  takes  him  in  hand; 

To-morrow  will  come,  to-day  will  go, 

The  bud  of  the  rose  begins  to  blow. 

Then,  wheel  of  my  fate,  you  may  turn  and  turn, 

And  fires  of  love,  you  may  burn  and  burn; 

Some  must  command,  and  some  must  obey — 

God  is  the  potter,  and  I  am  the  clay. 


THE  PRIEST  AND  SATAN. 


THE  incense  was  burned  out,  but  the  fragrance  lingered  still; 
The  organ  ceased  its  throbbing,  yet  held  the  music's  thrill; 
One  single  taper  burning,  and  the  shadows  gathered  fast, 
While  worshipers  went  slowly  out;  the  services  were  past. 

The  mystic  cross  gleamed  whitely  and    caught   the  taper's 

shine, 
While  stained  glass  of  window  panes  shone  out  like  ruby 

wine; 

Even  the  murky  shadows  had  caught  a  radiant  glow, 
But  the  Devil  lurked  in  corners  for  Angelo's  overthrow. 

A  slender,  dark-haired  priest  alone  was  kneeling  now, 
The  heavy  sweat  of  agony  was  beading  on  his  brow; 
The  whitened  lips  half  opened  seemed  whispering  in  prayer; 
A  Devil  in  the  corners,  but  Christ  was  in  the  air. 


ELLEN  P ATT  ON. 


I05 


Did  grief  gnaw  at  his  vitals,  or  the  shadow  of  some  sin  ? 
Like  a  sleuth  hound  swiftly  follow  a  soul  to  lose  or  win  ? 
All  night  before  the  sculptured  Christ  he  lay  in  silent  pain, 
Until  the  shadows  fled  away  and  morning1  dawned  again. 


Then  pent-up  thought  found  utterance  in  cries  and  anguished 

words, 

That  mingled  with  the  fleeting  of  morning's  singing  birds: 
"Jesus,  who  in  the  wilderness  wast  tempted  without  sin, 
My  strength  is  gone;  vigil  and  fast  the  victory  will  not  win. 

"I  love  a  woman,  that  my  woe;  O  Christ  of  woman  born, 
Come  in  and  help  me  keep  my  vow  upon  this  sacred  morn; 
But  is  it  sin  ?     I  cannot  tell,  but  this  one  thing  I  know, 
That,  having  vowed  myself  to  Thee,  I  cannot  let  Thee  go. 

"  Thou  art  my  Bride,  O  Princely  One,  and  in  Thy  starry  eyes 

I  catch  the  rays  of  love  divine;  my  hell  is  paradise. 

How  did  it  come  about  ?   you  ask.     Thou  knowest  that  full 

well; 
She  comes  to  my  confessional,  her  whitened  sins  to  tell. 

"The  fairest  thing  God  ever  made;  a  glory  in  her  hair, 
And  on  her  brow  the  raptured  look  that  only  saints  should 

wear. 

I  chanted  holy  hymns  to  Thee  till  vaulted  arches  rang; 
She  listened  then  as  if  she  thought  the  white-robed  angels 

san«-. 


I06  K'AiYSAS   COLLECTION. 

"I  charmed  her  heart  away,  O  God,  and  she  drew  out  my 

own; 

I  dare  not  yield  it  up  to  her,  it's  anchored  to  Thy  throne; 
My  vestments  touched   her  in  the  aisle;  it  stung  me  with  a 

thrill; 
That  shows  how  weak  a  mortal  is,  how  puny  human  will. 

"The  Devil  whispered,  'You   can  fly,  and   with  that  voice 

could  win 

Plaudits  from  men  and  yellow  gold;'  //esavs, 'it  is  not  sin.' 
Ah,  scaly  Devil,  dost  thou  think  that  thou  can*t  win  me  so? 
I'll  hurl  the  Bible  at  thy  head:  go,  grinning  horror,  go." 

The  matin  hell  begins  to  ring,  the  shadows  glide  away, 

One  penitent  comes  down  the  aisle  in  gown  of  silver  gray; 

She  kneels  before  the  latticed  guard:  "My  Father,  I  con 
fess—" 

A  sudden  pause  to  clasp  white  hands  across  her  throbbing 
breast. 

"What  is  it,  daughter,  let  me  hear?"     The  priest  bent  low 

his  brow, 
Caught  the  flash  of  diamond  ring  and   knew  the  suppliant 

now. 

"I  have  not  breath  to  name  my  sin;  absolve  and  let  me  go; 
I  love  a  tall  and  stately  priest;  his  life  is  pure  as  snow." 

Swift  silence  stung  the  lang'rous  air;  Satan  stepped  softly  in 
With  sensuous  eyes  and  smirking  mouth  — another  chance 

to  win; 

For  even  church  walls  will  not  keep  this  subtle  vagrant  out; 
Only  the  Christ,  once  crucified,  can  put  this  fiend  to  rout. 


ELLEN  PA  TTON. 


107 


Angelo  parleyed  with  his  foe;  alas,  was  almost  won; 

Before  him  lay  a  crucifix  with  image  of  God's  Son; 

lie  gazed   at  it  and  sprang  erect;   his  hands  were  clenched 

with  pain ; 
His  pale,  set  lips  were  stained  with  blood;  he  hissed,  "What, 

back  again ! " 

A  shape  unseen  by  other  eyes  stood  plainly  out  for  him; 
The  Devil  tried  a  saintly  smile;  it  turned  to  demon's  grin. 
The  suppliant  waited,  but  the  priest  dropped  by  his  chair  to 

pray ; 
When  he  uprose  his  hair  so  dark  was  turned  to  ashen  gray. 

lie  kissed  the  crucifix  and   spoke:   "In  p^ace,  my  daughter, 

g°; 

Baptised  in  Jesus'  crimson   blood,  your  sins  seem  white  as 

snow." 

The  rustle  of  her  silken  gown  died  out  upon  the  air; 
The  priest  had   conquered,  but  the   man  lay  fainting  in  his 

chair. 

•'And  did  he  die?"  I  hear  you  ask.     Ah,  no,  the  verger  came, 
With  holy  water  bathed  his  brow,  the  breath  came  back  again; 
The  aureole  of  whitened  hair  forevermore  would  be 
A  signal  from  the  heights  of  pain  —  a  badge  of  victory. 

He  saw  his  Eve  and  was  unmoved;  she  looked  at  him  with 

awe; 
The  people  talked  among  themselves  and  wondered  what  he 

saw 
That  bleached  his  hair  in  one  short  night,  and  touched  his 

human  face 
With  such  a  holy,  raptured  look  —  almost  a  saint-like  grace. 


I08  A'ANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Yes,  men   go  down  and  fight  with  hell,  but  rise  to  glory's 
height; 

When  Christ  stoops  down  and  touches  them,  Satan  is  put  to 

flight. 

Angelo's  conflict  is  a  type.     If  it  should  come  to  me, 
I  could  not  conquer  in  the  fight,  unless  God  set  me  free. 


AND  since  those  days,  how  many  hearts  have  bled, 
How  many  souls  climed  up  the  heights  of  time  ? 
Pain  carving  out  the  steps  from  earth  to  God: 
Foj;  all  He  lo\'es  must  pass  beneath  the  rod. 

-Pation. 


Broker 


THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  MIND. 


OH,  weed  the  weeds  unsightly 
From  the  garden  of  the  mind, 

That  flowers  of  thought  bloom  brightly 
In  beauty  fair  enshrined. 


That  the  fragrance  of  those  flowers 
Waft  in  glory  o'er  the  earth, 

And  forever  through  the  hours 
Lead  to  better,  brighter  birth. 


That  the  angels  all  immortal, 

In  their  purity  and  grace 
Smile  adown  from  heaven's  portal 

On  the  wondrous  human  race. 

(105) 


I  10  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 


"IT  IS  I,  BE  NOT  AFRAID!" 

GOD'S  beauty,  grand,  supernal, 
Far  in  the  starry  depths  unfurls! 

God's  glory  lives  eternal 

Above  the  crash  of  mighty  worlds! 

Wafts  o'er  the  grave's  abysmal  shade: 
"It  is  I,  be  not  afraid  !" 

0  Conqueror  of  Death!     O  Light! 
The  stars  that  seem  to  speak  in  ruth, 

Unto  Thy  radiance  are  but  night  — 

But  froth  and  foam  on  sea  of  truth! 
Christ  calls  to  all  —  to  Peter  said: 
"It  is  I,  be  not  afraid  !" 

The  night  passed  on  —  the  fourth  watch  came 

Christ  glorious  walked  the  troubled  wave; 
They  saw  Him  coining  like  a  flame, 

And  cried  for  fear  a  ghost  to  brave; 
"Be  of  good  cheer!"   their  dear  Lord  said; 
"It  is  I,  be  not  afraid  !" 

1  hear  the  couVser's  thundering  tread  ! 

The  shouting  of  the  armed  foe! 
I  saw  the  vanquished  as  they  fled 
In  their  sad  misery  and  woe  — 


TIIOMA  S  BR  O  WER  PEA  GOCK. 

But  hark!  a  voice  their  sorrows  stayed: 
"It  is  I,  be  not  afraid  !" 

Though  ships  are  tossing  on  the  sea, 

Though  winds  are  running  wild  and  high, 

Though  fishermen  on  Galilee 

Are  fearful  when  the  storm  is  nigh  — 

O  deep  His  meaning  !  more  than  said: 
"It  is  I,  be  not  afraid  !" 


MAN. 

THE  history  of  the  human  race 

Is  but  a  tragedy  of  tears! 
Man's  life  's  a  passing  breath,  I  trace, 

Where  always  jostle  hopes  and  fears.. 

As  barque  tossed  by  the  stormy  sea, 

High  on  the  foam-capped  wave  is  hung,. 

One  moment  more,  and  lost  'twill  be, 
Engulfed  for  aye  —  by  all  unsung  ! 

So  man  each  hour  stands  on  death's  brink,. 

Unto  himself  a  mystery! 
An  instant  stands,  then  down  doth  sink, 

Lost  in  oblivion's  somber  sea. 


112  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Then  boast  not  of  thy  power,  O  man! 

Thou  art  no  more  —  no  more  shall  be 
Compared  to  God,  the  Mighty,  than 

A  second  to  eternity. 


GOD  secretes  in  places  lone  and  still 
The  rarest  products  of  His  will; 
For  contact  with  the  world  disarms 
His  fairest  flowers  of  half  their  charms. 

—  Peacock. 


Is.  ptenfis. 


IN  LIFE'S  AFTERNOON. 


'T  WAS  IN  life's  afternoon 

I  loved  thee,  dear: 
The  hopes  of  morn  had  fled 

With  midday  clear. 
Illusion's  veil  was  rent, 
Dreams  fled  too  soon, 
When  came  the  sweet  event, 
And  in  life's  afternoon 

I  loved  thee,  dear. 

Gone  was  the  morning  dew, 

The  mists  that  hid. 
Life's  frowning  peaks 

Rose  dark  and  near: 
The  sun  the  springs  had  dried, 
The  sands  were  hot  and  drear, 
When,  in  life's  afternoon, 

I  loved  thee,  dear. 


—8 


14 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Soon  had  night's  shadows  come 

With  shapes  of  fear; 
Soon  had  the  darkness  fallen, 

But  ere 

Day's  curtain  downward  rolled, 
The  sky  flashed  rose  and  gold, 
And,  in  life's  afternoon, 

I  loved  thee,  dear. 


09illiam  j+askell  Simpson. 


BABY  MARIQUITA. 

HUSH-A-BYE  !  hush-a-bye  ! 
Bees  have  left  the  fragrant  rye, 
Clouds  are  fading  in  the  sky; 
Home  the  weary  birdies  fly  — 

Hush,  baby  dear, 
Soldiers  rest  from  war's  alarms, 
All  is  quiet  on  the  farms  — 
God's  peace  clasps  us  in  its  arms. 

Sleep,  mother  's  near  ! 

Hush-a-bye  !  hush-a-bye  ! 
Moonlit  silence  wraps  yon  hills, 
And  this  river  feels  no  thrills 
From  the  still  wheels  of  the  mills  — 

Hush,  baby  dear. 
You,  too,  find  soft-billowed  rest 
On  sweet  mother-love's  warm  breast, 
When  rose  flushes  quit  the  west. 

Sleep,  do  not  fear  ! 

("S) 


Il6  A'.-LVS.IS   COLLEC'J'JOX. 

Ilush-a-bye  !  hush-a-bye  ! 
Quickly  pales  this  harvest  moon, 
Life  is  all  a  jangled  tune, 
Wake  not  from  youth's  dreams  too  soon 

Hush,  baby  dear. 
Toil  may  hurt  you,  by  and  by; 
Joy  bring  heart  break;  laugh  bring  sigh 
Love  bends  low  to  soothe  each  cry. 

Sleep,  I  am  here  ! 


TRIUMPHS. 


Ix  youth's  new  years  of  sowing  time, 
All  breezes  blew  with  swing  and  rhvme; 
And  onward,  upward  was  the  climb. 

What  seas  beyond  those  mountains  lay; 
What  triumphs,  and  crown  wreaths  of  bay, 
Were  mine,  if  dawned  another  day  ! 

Ah  me  !     Unnumbered  days  have  passed, 
And  still  uncrowned,  unknown,  at  last 
I  journey  down  the  hillside  fast. 

Snug  in  a  home,  my  very  own, 

A  wife  to  make  lone  hours  less  lone, 

A  little  child,  bone  of  my  bone. 


WILLIAM  HASKELL   SIMPSON. 

This  is  the  quiet  end  of  all 

The  old-time  strife  and  hurting  fall  — 

Love  holds  me  in  its  pleasing  thrall.    . 

Yet  not  the  close !     My  precious  hoy, 
In  unrestrained  and  childish  joy, 
Is  playing  with  some  curious  toy: 

For  him  my  old  ambition  burns, 
For  him  my  heart  in  silence  yearns, 
As  one  by  one  life's  ways  he  learns. 

He,  too,  in  part  these  paths  will  tread : 
May  he-press  on,  sure-stepped,  ahead, 
To  where  the  victor's  cheeks  blush  red  ! 


LOVE  RENEWED. 


117 


So  MUCH  to  do  ere  hands  are  cold; 
So  far  to  fare,  ere  limbs  grow  old; 
.So  much  to  say,  if  all  is  told  — 

That  we  lose  sight  of  better  things; 

Forget,  in  earthward  wanderings, 

To  vise  love's  buoyant  sweeping  wings. 

And  I — yes,  I  sometimes  forget 
To  lure  away  your  care  and  fret, 
And  kiss  the  cheeks  by  teardrops  wet. 


IlS  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Here  let  us  pledge  ourselves  anew, 
Each  to  the  other,  open,  true, — 
Lest  life  lose  all  its  rainbowed  dew: 

Who  knows  what  time  we  say  good  bye  ? 
When  one  shall  in  the  churchyard  lie  ? 
A  star  gone  out  of  joy's  bright  sky. 


k  §noW. 


ACCEPTANCE. 


As  THE  spirit  of  the  seed, 
Be  it  germ  of  flower  or  weed, 
Palm  or  willow,  oak  or  pine, 
Yellow  grain  or  clinging  vine,  . 
Waits  within  its  bit  of  earth 
For  its  rightful  hour  of  birth, 
Drawing  strength  from  day  and  night, 
Reaching  upward  into  sight, 
Living  in  a  sweet  content 
With  its  .whole  environment, 
Destined  nothing  else  to  know 
But  in  its  own  place  to  grow  — 
So  the  soul  of  man  should  be, 
Accepting  thus  his  destiny. 


120  A'ANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Be  it  part  of  hill  or  plain, 
Lying  in  the  sun  and  rain, 
Cherishes  a  royal  rose 
Or  a  wondrous  fruitage  shows, 
Blending  by  its  alchemy 
Elements  of  mystery, 
Knowing  nothing  hut  to  yield 
To  the  purpose  half  revealed, 
And  to  use  its  mystic  power 
Higher  functions  to  endower  — 
So  the  soul  of  man  should  he, 
Accepting  thus  his  destiny. 

As  the  marvel  of  the  light 
Shining  from  the  Infinite, 
Be  it  sun  or  be  it  star, 
Held  within  its  golden  bar, 
Fills  its  own  allotted  space 
With  a  miracle  of  grace, 
Giving  inspiration  breath 
Through  the  silences  of  death, 
Guiding  in  each  measured  course 
Currents  of  creative  force, 
Knowing  but  divinity 
In  its  work  of  ministry  — 
So  the  soul  of  man  should  be, 
Accepting  thus  his  destiny. 


FLORENCE  L.   SNOW.  121 


CREATIVE  POWER. 


WITH  A  BUNCH  OF  POND   LILIES. 

I  SEND  these  lilies,  poet,  unto  thee, 

All  dewy-fresh  from  cool  Nequempo's  breast, 
Where  they  were  anchored  tenderly  at  rest 

By  rootlets  far  below  where  I  could  see 

The  prison  birth  that  left  the  blossoms  free 

To  draw  from  mold  and  slime,  at  God's  behest, 
The  beauty  that  in  all  things  He  has  blest. 

O  miracle  of  love,  that  this  should  be  ! 

Such  is  the  wonder  of  creative  power, 

That  lies,  O  friend,  within  thy  being's  core, 

And  brings  from  life's  dark  ooze  the  perfect  flower 
Of  poetry,  which  sheds  its  royal  store 

Upon  the  wide  world's  bosom,  to  endower 
Poor  human  kind  in  ways  unknown  before. 


KANSAS. 


FOR   A   PICTURE. 


A  GRACIOUS  figure,  clad  in  living  green, 

En  wrought  with  gold,  and  broidered  thick  with  flowers! 

A  woman,  strong  in  woman's  noblest  powers, 
Who  holds  the  scepter  of  a  fearless  queen, 


122  KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

And  there  is  love  in  her  blue  eyes,  I  ween  — 

The  love  that  keeps  a  watch  from  its  own  toweio, 
And  on  her  lips  the  purpose  that  endowers 

Her  royal  children  with  her  royal  sheen! 

Above  her  floats  a  gonfalon,  unfurled, 
That  men  may  see  her  colors  from  afar, 

And  read  therein  her  message  to  the  world; 
Steadfast  she  stands,  be  it  in  peace  or  war, 

Nor  falters  not  though  heavy  clouds  be  hurled 
Athwart  the  glory  of  her  guiding  star. 


09are. 


THE  WASHERWOMAN'S  SONG. 

IN  a  very  humble  cot, 
In  a  rather  quiet  spot, 
In  th'e  suds  and  in  the  soap, 
Worked  a  woman  full  of  hope; 
Working,  singing,  all  alone, 
In  a  sort  of  undertone, 
"With  a  Savior  for  a  friend, 
He  will  keep  me  to  the  end." 

Sometimes  happening  along, 
I  had  heard  the  semi-song, 
And  I  often  used  to  smile, 
More  in  sympathy  than  guile; 
But  I  never  said  a  word 
In  regard  to  what  I  heard, 
As  she  sang  about  her  Friend 
Who  would  keep  her  to  the  end. 

Not  in  sorrow  nor  in  glee 
Working  all  day  long  was  she, 
As  her  children,  three  or  four, 
Played  around  her  on  the  floor; 


124  A'.LVSslS   COLLECTION. 

But  in  monotones  the  song 
She  was  humming  all  day  long, 
"  With  the  Savior  for  a  friend, 
lie  will  keep  me  to  the  end." 

It's  a  song  I  do  not  sing, 
For  I  scarce  believe  a  thing 
Of  the  stories  that  are  told 
Of  the  miracles  of  old ; 
But  I  know  that  her  belief 
Is  the  anodyne  of  grief, 
And  will  always  be  a  friend 
That  will  keep  her  to  the  end. 

Just  a  trifle  lonesome  she, 
Just  as  poor  as  poor  could  be, 
But  her  spirits  always  rose, 
Like  the  bubbles  in  the  clothes, 
And  though  widowed  and  alone, 
Cheered  her  with  the  monotone, 
Of  a  Savior  and  a  friend 
Who  would  keep  her  to  the  end. 

I  have  seen  her  rub  and  scrub, 
On  the  washboard  in  the  tub, 
While  the  baby  sopped  in  suds, 
Rolled  and  tumbled  in  the  duds; 
Or  was  paddling  in  the  pools, 
With  old  scissors  stuck  in  spools; 
She  still  humming  of  her  Friend 
Who  would  keep  her  to  the  end. 


EUGENE  A    WARE. 

Human  hopes  and  human  creeds 
Have  their  root  in  human  needs; 
And  I  would  riot  wish  to  strip 
From  that  washerwoman's  lip 
Any  song  that  she  can  sing, 
Any  hope  that  songs  can  bring; 
For  the  woman  has  a  Friend 
Who  will  keep  her  to  the  end. 


QUIVER  A-  KANSAS, 
1542- 1882. 

IN  that  half-forgotten  era, 
With  the  avarice  of  old, 
Seeking  cities  that  were  told 
To  be  paved  with  solid  gold 

In  the  kingdom  of  Quivera  — 

Came  the  restless  Coronado 

To  the  open  Kansas  plain 

With  his  knights  from  sunny  Spain; 

In  an  effort,  that,  tho'  vain, 
Thrilled  with  boldness  and  bravado. 

League  by  league,  in  aimless  marching, 
Knowing  scarcely  where  or  why, 
Crossed  they  uplands  drear  and  dry, 
That  an  unprotected  sky 

Had  for  centuries  been  parching. 


I25 


I26  KAA'SAS  COLLECTION. 

But  their  expectations,  eager, 
Found,  instead  of  fruitful  lands, 
Shallow  streams  and  shifting  sands, 
Where  the  buffalo  in  bands 

Roamed  o'er  deserts  dry  and  meager. 

Back  to  scenes  more  trite,  more  tragic, 

Marched  the  knights  with  armor'd  steeds; 
Not  for  them  the  quiet  deeds; 
Not  for  them  to  sow  the  seeds 

From  which  empires  grow  like  magic. 

Never  land  so  hunger  stricken 

Could  a  Latin  race  remold; 

They  could  conquer  heat  or  cold  — 

Die  for  glory  or  for  gold  — 
But  not  make  a  desert  quicken. 

Thus  Quivera  was  forsaken; 

And  the  world  forgot  the  place, 

Until  centuries  apace 

Came  the  blue-eyed  .Saxon  race, 

And  it  bade  the  desert  waken. 

And  it  bade  the  climate  vary; 
And  awaiting  no  reply 
From  the  elements  on  high, 
It  with  plows  besieged  the  sky, 

Vexed  the  heavens  with  the  prairie. 


EUGENE  F.   WARE. 

Then  the  vitreous  sky  relented, 

And  the  unacquainted  rain 

Fell  upon  the  thirsty  plain, 

Whence  had  gone  the  knights  of  Spain, 
Disappointed,  discontented. 

Sturdy  are  the  Saxon  faces, 
As  they  move  along  in  line; 
Bright  the  rolling  cutters  shine, 
Charging  up  the  State's  incline 

As  an  army  storms  a  glacis. 

Into  loam  the  sand  is  melted, 

And  the  bluegrass  takes  the  loam, 
Round  about  the  prairie  home; 
And  the  locomotives  roam 

Over  landscapes  iron  belted. 

Cities  grow  where  stunted  birches 
Hugged  the  shallow  water  line, 
And  the  deepening  rivers  twine 
Past  the  factory  and  mine, 

Orchard  slopes  and  schools  and  churches. 

Deeper  grows  the  soil  and  truer, 
More  and  more  the  prairie  teems 
With  a  fruitage  as  of  dreams; 
Clearer,  deeper,  flow  the  streams, 

Blander  grows  the  sky,  and  bluer. 


127 


128  A'.IA'S.-IS   COLLECTION. 

We  have  made  the  State  of  Kansas, 
And  to-day  she  stands  complete  — 
First  in  freedom,  first  in  wheat; 
And  her  future  years  will  meet 

Ripened  hopes  and  richer  stanzas. 

JOHN  BROWN. 


STATES  are  not  great  except-  as  men  may  make  them. 

Men  are  not  great  except  they  do  and  dare. 
But  States,  like  men,  have  destinies  that  take  them  — 

That  bear  them  on,  not  knowing  why  or  where. 

The  WHY  repels  the  philosophic  searcher  — 
The  WHY  and  WHERE  all  questionings  defy, 

Until  we  find,  far  back  in  youthful  nurture, 
Prophetic  facts  that  constitute  the  WHY. 

All  merit  comes  in  daring  the  unequal, 

All  glory  comes  from  daring  to  begin. 
Fame  loves  the  State  that,  reckless  of  the  sequel, 

Fights  long  and  well,  though  it  may  lose  or  win. 

Than  in  our  State,  no  illustration  apter 

Is  seen  or  found  of  faith  and  hope  and  will. 

Take  up  her  story:  every  leaf  and  chapter 
Contains  a  record  that  conveys  a  thrill. 

And  there  is  one  whose  faith,  whose  fight,  whose  failing, 
Fame  yet  shall  placard  on  the  walls  of  time. 

He  dared  begin  —  despite  the  unavailing, 
He  dared  begin,  when  failure  was  a  crime. 


EUGENE  F.   WARE. 


129 


When  over  Africa  some  future  cycle 

Shall  sweep  the  lake-gemmed  uplands  with  its  surge; 
When  as  with  trumpet  of  Archangel  Michael 

Culture  shall  bid  a  colored  race  emerge; 

When  busy  cities  there,  in  constellations, 

Shall  gleam  with  spires  and  palaces  and  domes  — 

With  marts  wherein  is  heard  the  noise  of  nations  — 
With  summer  groves  surrounding  stately  homes  — 

There  future  orators  to  cultured  freemen 
Shall  tell  of  valor,  and  recount  with  praise 

Stories  of  Kansas  and  of  Lacedsemon, 
Cradles  of  freedom,  then  of  ancient  days. 

From  boulevards  o'erlooking  both  Nyanzas, 
The  statued  bronze  shall  glitter  in  the  sun, 
With  rugged  lettering: 

"JOHN  BROWN,  OF  KANSAS: 

HE  DARED  BEGIN; 
HE  LOST BUT,  LOSING,  WON." 


SELECTIONS  FROM  "NEUTRALIA." 


THERE  is  something  in  a  flag,  and  a  little  burnished  eagle, 
That  is  more  than  emblematic,  it  is  glorious,  it's  regal. 
You  may  never  live  to  feel  it;  you  may  never  be  in  danger; 
You  may  never  visit  foreign  lands  and  play  the  role  of  stran- 


1 30  A'ANSAS   COLLECTION. 

You  may  never  in  the  army  check  the  march  of  an  invader, 

You  may  never  on  the  ocean  cheer  the  swarthy  cannonader; 

But  if  these  should  happen  to  you,  then,  when  age  is  on  you 
pressing, 

And  your  great,  big,  booby  boy  comes  to  ask  your  final  bless 
ing, 

You  will  tell  him:   Son  of  mine,  be  your  station  proud  or  fru- 

gal, 

When  your  country  calls  her  children,  and  you  hear  the 
blare  of  bugle, 

Do  n't  you  stop  to  think  of  Kansas  or  the  quota  of  your 
county, 

Do  n't  you  go  to  asking  questions,  do  n't  you  stop  for  pay  or 
bounty, 

But  you  volunteer  at  once;  and  you  go  where  orders  take  you, 

And  obey  them  to  the  letter,  if  they  make  you  or  they  break 
you; 

Hunt  that  flag  and  then  stay  with  it,  be  you  wealthy  or  ple 
beian  ; 

Let  the  women  sing  the  dirges,  scrape  the  lint  and  chant  the 
paean. 

Though  the  magazines  and  journals  teem  with  anti-war  per 
suasion, 

And  the  stay-at-homes  and  cowards  gladly  take  the  like  oc 
casion, 

Don't  you  ever  dream  of  asking,  "Is  the  war  a  right  or 
wrong  one  ?" 

You  are  in  it,  and  your  duty  is  to  make  the  fight  a  strong  one, 

And  you  stay  till  it  is  over,  be  the  war  a  short  or  long  one. 

Make  amends  when  war  is  over,  then  the  power  with  you  is 
lying; 

Then,  if  wrong,  do  ample  justice  —  but  that  flag,  you  keep  it 
flying. 


EL'GENE   F.    U'.IA'E.  jjl 

If  that  flag  goes  down  to  ruin,  time  will  then,  without  a  warn 
ing. 

Turn  the  dial  back  to  midnight,  and  the  world  must  wait  till 
morning. 

*  *          * 

I  can  give  you  a  prescription  that  will  always  make  a  hero: 
Go  and  get  a  full-fledged  lover  and  reduce  his  hopes  to  zero: 
Get  a  man  that  loves  a  woman  with  devotion  pure  and  steady. 
Let  the  woman  "go  back  on  him,"  and  your  hero  is  all  ready. 
Now  just  turn  him  loose  and  watch  him:   see  old  Cerberus. 

he  cringes  ! 
See  !    the  red-hot  gates  are   beaten  from  their  solid  brazen 

hinges, 
And /hell's  blue  platinum  standards  he  is  sabering  into  fringes. 

*  *          * 

All  communities  are  cannon  —  intellect  is  ammunition; 
Man  is  simply  a  projectile,  flung  with  more  or  less  precision, 
And  the  more  you  jam  him  down,  if  he  only  has  the  powder, 
Why,  the  higher  up  he  goes  and  the  gun  it  roars  the  louder. 
And  the  globe  sight  of  that  cannon  is  a  woman,  and  her  sta 
tion 

Is  to  give  the  rash  projectile  proper  flight  and  elevation  — 
To  the  sky  or  to  the  mud  it  must  go  at  her  dictation. 

*  #          * 

Any  man  is  brave  with  money;  braver  far  is  he  without  it 
Who  dares  always  act  'uprightly,  and  not  fret  himself  about  it. 
We  should  keep  our  faith  and  courage;  if  calamities  assail  us, 
If  misfortunes  swoop  down  on  us,  like  the  vultures  of  Stym- 
phalus, 


>32 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 


It  will  never  do  to  weaken,  it  is  cowardice  to  fly  them; 
Do  like  old  Troilian  Ajax  —  strike  an  attitude,  defy  them. 
If  we  waver  and  fall  back,  Fate  will  ever  then  be  urging 
Us  like  quarry  slaves  at  nightfall,  homeward  to  our  dungeon 
scourging. 


THE  anchors  are  strong  that  hold  the  ships; 

The  wire  is  strong  that  bridges  the  fall ; 
But  all  of  their  strength  must  surfer  eclipse 
Compared  with  the  words  of  a  woman's  lips, 

For  she  binds  the  man  that  has  made  them  all. 

—  Ware. 


WE  all  believe  in  Kansas;  she's  our  State, 

With  all  the  elements  to  make  her  great  — 

Young  men,  high  hopes,  proud  dreams  —  'tis  ours  to  see 

The  State  succeed  to  what  the  State  should  be. 

—  Ware. 


09111. 


SENCE  IDY'S  GONE. 


SENCE  Idy's  gone  somehow  you  see 
The  hours  is  longer  'n  they  usto  be, 

An'  days  an'  skies  are  duller,  an'  the  night 
Drips  out  in  oozing  seconds  drearily 

At  every  hollow  clock  tick,  till  the  light 
Laps  up  the  murky  fancies  wearily, 

And  fever'd  dreams  'at  come  long  after  dawn 
Mix  up  the  happiness  I  hoped  to  see 
'Ith  that  great  sorrow  which  is  hantin'  me: 
'At  Idy  's  gone. 

Sence  Idy's  gone  I  dist  can't  stay 

In  doors;  it  seems  like  ev'ry  way 
I  look  I  find  some  doin's  'at  'uz  her'n: 

Her  apern  mebbe,  er  the  last  croshay 
She  done  before  she  went;  at  eve'y  turn 

I  run  acrost  her  mem'ry,  so  's  I  say 
I  keep  out  doors  dist  kindo 's  if  I 's  drawn, 

An'  hang  around  the  crick  here  ev'rv  day; 

But  even  it  keeps  singin'  in  its  play 

'At  Idy  's  gone. 


134  A'ANSAS   COLLECTION. 

Go  into  town  er  to  the  store, 
It's  all  the  same,  I  hyur  the  roar 

The  crick  is  makin'  as  it  reshes  past 

The  bend;  I  know  its  savin'  somepin'  more 

'N  folks  believe,  an'  more 'n  most  folks  dast, 
'Less  they  believe  'at  spirits  crosses  o'er 

An'  talks  'ith  us;  the  housework  don't  git  on 
Keeps  gittin'  tangleder'n  'twas  before, 
Dist  like  my  head  'at 's  tangled  to  the  core, 
Sence  Idy  's  gone. 


A  TWELFTH  MONTH  IDYL. 


EVERY  thing  a-freezin'  up,  'long  about  December; 
Wilier  Crick  amongst  the  rest,  'f  I  do  n't  disremember, 
Froze  up  tighter 'n  a  brick, 'ceptin'  where  Bill  Oldum 
Throwed  a  whoppin'  rock  er  stick,  't'  see  if  it  'ud  hold  him;' 
Slick  ez  glass  an'  green  an'  thick,  temptin'  an'  a-teasin'; 
Hear  it  poppin'  up  the  crick  while  it's  still  a-freezin'; 
Hear  the  clinkin'  of  the  skates,  comin'  thro'  the  timber  — 
Nosey  Jim  an'  Shorty  Bates  '11  soon  be  gittin'  limber. 
I  kin  say  now  I've  begun,  "'f  I  don't  disremember, 
Wilier  Crick's  the  place  fer  fun,  'long  about  December." 

Build  a  big  ol'  driftwood  fire,  sizzlin'  an'  a-smokin', 
Fer  the  girls  to  stand  around,  shiv 'rin'  an'  a-chokin', 
Till  their  fellers  prances  in,  with  some  quirl  erruther, 
Say  in':  "Shan't  we  try  agin;  go  a  little  futher, 


IV ILL.  A. -WHITE.  IC?r 

0  J 

Up  the  slew  er  round  the  ben',  'way  from  where  the  crowd  is," 
Er  some  sich  like  words  —  an'  then — well,  you  know  jes'  how 

'tis  — 

Fer  you  orto  see  the  ice,  Satterdays  an'  sich  days: 
Looks  jes'  like  a  nest  of  mice,  runnin'  ev'ry  which  ways. 
Ar  debatin'  club  looks  sick,  fer  'bout  ev'ry  member 
Sneaks  off  down  to  Wilier  Crick,  'long  about  December. 

Afternoons  when  school  is  out,  'bout  a  hundred  fellers, 
Rat'lin  skates  an'  dinner  pails,  headed  by  Jack  Sellers, 
Comes  a-pilin'  down  the  bank,  an'  before  you  know  it 
Give  their  straps  a  twistin'  yank,  an'  away  they  go  it  — 
Some  a-cuttin'  curlycues,  some  a-playin'  shinny, 
Some  a-runnin'  like  the  duce  after  little  Skinny 
Johnson,  who's  a  being  "it"  in  some  game  erruther; 
Cross  tag,  mebbe  —  I  fergit  —  can't  tell  which  from  tuther; 
But  they  're  having  fun,  you  bet,  more  'n  in  September, 
Fur  they  do  n't  get  overhet,  'long  about  December. 

Then  the  fellers  with  their  girls,  haint  they  more 'n  happy  — 
Girls  'ith  cheeks  an'  lips  so  red,  and  'ith  eyes  so  snappy  — 
Skatin'  up  an'  skatin'  down,  doclgin'  folks  'at  pass  you; 
Skatin'  where  they's  no  un  'roun',  no  un  to  harass  you. 
Wilier  Crick  boys  wa'nt'  much  good,  't  raisin'  Ned  and  larkin', 
But  you  bet  they  usta  could  beat  the  world  a-sparkin'. 
They  's  a  piece  I  heard  tell  of,  says  'at  young  men's  fancies 
Lightly  turns  to  thoughts  o'  love,  in  the  spring;  the  chances 
Are  the  reason  this  was  sed,  is  'at  we  remember 
In  the  spring  the  fun  we  've  hed  'long  about  December. 


136  KANSAS  COLLECTION. 

THE  OL'  WOOD  PUMP. 


THEY  's  differ'nt  things  about  a  farm  'at  takes  a  feller's  eye; 
Some  think  'at  pigs  is  pickchuresk,  though  durned  if  I  see 

why ; 

An'  others  thinks  'at  bleating  sheep  an'  wabbly-legged  colts 
Is  proper  things  fer  folk  to  paint;  but  that  jest  somehow  jolts 
On  my  artistic  feelin's,  bein'  raised,  y'  understand, 
On  "Rock  of  Ages,"  "Plate  of  Fruit,"  an'  "Views  from  Holy 

Land." 

But  speakin'  of  yer  music,  now  I  guess  you  hav'  to  hump, 
If  you  beat  the  laffin'  gurgle  of 

the  ol' 

.  wood 

pump. 

It  used  to  stand  behind  the  house  right  near  the  ellum  tree, 
Though  summers  't  was  n't  shaded  much  it  didn't  seem  to  me, 
Fer  afternoons  it  was  so  hot  it  jest  'ud  burn  yer  feet  — 
I  mean  the  platform  'ud ;  an'  then  you  never  saw  the  beat 
Of  how  it  lickt  the  wotter  up  before  you  'd  pumped  a  spell, 
An'  my!  but  wa 'n't  the  wotter  cool  from  way  down  in  the 

well ; 

You  most  could  taste  the  coolness,  an'  yer  taster 'd  give  a  jump 
To  meet  the  wotter  bubblin'  in 

the  ol' 

wood 

pump . 


WILL.   A.    WHITE. 


'37 


The  ban's  'ud  wash  there  mornin's,  an'  the  stock  'ud  come  at 

night, 
To  drink  ez  fast  ez  Lige  could  pump  an'  work  'ith  all  his 

might. 

The  cattle  they  'd  injov  it,  though,  an'  when  they  'd  got  enuff 
They  'd  stick  their  noses  in  the  troft  an'  pull  'em  out  an'  snuff- 
So  when  the  stock  'ud  go  away,  an'  Lige  was  perty  hot 
He'd  stop  the  spout  a  runnin'  'ith  his  hand,  ex  like  ez  not; 
He'd  pump  a  bit,  then  shet  his  eyes,  an'  put  his  mouth  down 

plump, 
An'  drink  a  stream  of  gladness  from 

the  ol' 

wood 

pump. 

An'  when  you  had  to  prime  it,  then  they  was  an  awful  fuss; 
The  girls  'ud  git  the  wotter  pails  and  make  a  dredful  muss, 
Spillin'  more  outside  'n  in;  you  could  hyur  it  splashin'  down, 
Dashin'  round  aginst  milk  things  'ith  a  holler,  far  off  soun'; 
Perty  quick  the  pump  'ud  sniffle;  then  he'd  sorter  turn  an' 

growl ; 

Then,  ez  if  he  did  n't  like  it,  he  'ud  jes'  git  up  an'  howl; 
An'  before  you  hardly  know'd  it  'ud  hyur  a  little  thump, 
An  the  wotter  'ud  be  flowin'  from 

the  ol' 

wood 

pump. 


138  KANSAS  COLLECTION. 


MY  stock  of  heroes  never  wuz 
vSo  very  big,  you  see,  becuz 
I  never  understood  the  plan 
'At  they  are  built  on;  an'  a  man 
Don't  like  to  keep  things  'round  'at  he 
Can't  'predate  —  at  least  tnat 's  me. 

-  White. 


Kansas  Symposium. 

CRADLE  OF   FREEDOM. 

MEN  said — a  noble  few  —  that  Kansas  soil 
Should  yield  its  fruitage  but  to  freeman's  toil; 
And  Freedom,  cradled  here,  grown  great  and  strong, 
Rose  in  her  might  to  cope  with  ancient  Wrong. 
"Set  free  !   Set  free  !"  she  cried,  nor  stayed  her  hand 
Till  only  Crime  wore  chains  in  all  the  land. 

—  Ellen  P.  Allerton. 


KANSAS,  most  loved  of  Fortune's  guests, 

Child  of  our  hopes  and  fears  — 
Kansas,  whose  genius  ever  wrests 

Victory  from  Failure's  tears  — 
Thy  children  hail  thee  as  the  best, 

And  will  for  ceaseless  years. 

—  J.   IV.  D.  Anderson. 


A  six  line  rhyme  on  Kansas,  did  you  say  ? 

One  cannot  sing  her  glories  in  a  day. 

Nay,  more  !  let  all  the  authors  of  our  State  combine 

They  could  but  mention  Kansas  in  a  six-line  rhyme. 

— //.  IV.  Bailey. 


140 


A'A.YS.-IS   COLLECTION. 


As  VENUS  walks  the  evening  sky, 

Fair  queen  o'er  many  a  sister  star, 
O'er  glows  at  morn,  while  shadows  fly, 

Bright  herald  of  Apollo's  care: 

So  shines  our  Kansas  —  though  radiant  stars  her  sisters  are, 
She  reigns  for  aye,  a  nation's  vesper  and  auroral  star  ! 

—  Mary  L.  Bard. 


A  NORWAY  legend  tells  us  how,  when  the  earth  was  done, 
God  called  His  angels  to  him ;  and  lo  !  it  chanced  that  one 
Perceived  one  spot  unfinished,  and  back  to  heaven  went, 
And,  to  his  Master's  service,  the  best  of  heaven  sent. 
So  as  the  first  is  after,  the  last  shall  come  before; 
Kansas  got  that  blessing:  what  could  she  covet  more  ? 

—  Lillie  Binkley. 


THE  LAND  OF  MEN. 

BROAD  plains  of  Kansas,  yoeman's  pride,  by  battle  stained, 
'T  was  here  that  outraged  Freedom  rose,  when  bondage  waned. 
Thy  sacred  soil,  O  patriot  land,  is  leader's  ground, 
Where  Moral  Right  her  proud  head  rears,  no  longer  bound; 
As  first  for  Freedom,  first  for  right,  Godward  we  ken: 
Demanding  courage,  hero's  ground,  thou  makest  men  ! 

—  Carl  Briuin. 


THE  State,  to  Freedom  sworn,  that  set  the  floods  in  motion, 
Whose  shoreless  billows  soon  the  Nation  overran, 

And  washed  away  the  lie,  fulfilled  the  fine  devotion, 
Writ  in  our  fathers'  vow  of  loyalty  to  man. 

—  A.  A.  B.  Caraness. 


KANSAS   COLLECTION.  j 

KANSAS,  ON   SOME   FUTURE   DAY. 

COME,  mark  me  what  I  say  ! 
Kansas,  on  some  future  dny, 
Will  stand  in  the  lead  of  all 
Municipalities  on  this  ball, 
Both  in  art  and  agricultural  line, 

For  hers  is  a  destiny  sublime. 

—  John  Preston  Campbell. 


I  SIT  upon  a  summer  cloud.     My  car 
Unseen -I  float,  and  view  the  lands  afar, 

To  choose,  from  many,  one  to  guide  my  stanzas. 
I  see  a  free-born  State,  still  free  indeed, 
By  thrift  and  temperance  gaining  the  lead ; 

Stand  forth  amid  thy  golden  sheaves,  fair  Kansas. 

—  E.  P.  Chittenden. 


"AD-ASTRA   PER   ASPERA." 

BEAUTIFUL  Kansas,  whose  glory  and  fame 
Thy  children  in  song  and  story  proclaim; 
Though  born  in  battle  and' baptized  in  blood, 
Thou  art  the  home  of  the  noble  and  good ; 
And  thy  sons  and  daughters  shall  grandly  rise 
Through  difficulties  to  the  starry  skies. 


—  A'.  L.  Coihran. 


NOT  for  what  she  has  done  for  me, 

Though  it  be  great, 
For  what  she  is,  her  majesty, 

I  love  my  State. 


Tlwinas  E/ninet  Deivty. 


142 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

THE  blazing  star  upon  our  checkered  page, 
The  pavement  where  the  foot  of  Liberty 
Rests  firm  —  the  gem  of  all  our  boasted  age 
And  land,  burns  brightest  in  the  galaxy 
Of  stars,  which  represents  our  claim 
To  Freedom's  best  and  sweetest  name. 

—Jus.  A.  DtlMoss. 


WHEN  Freedom's  banner  is  unfurled, 

No  star  among  its  folds  of  blue 
Shines  forth  to  nations  far  and  wide 

With  luster  brighter,  with  beams  more  true; 
Though  oft  mid  clouds  'tis  hidden  quite, 
It  rises  ever  for  the  right. 

—  Ida  Capen  Fleming. 


MY  Kansas  !  your  praises  I  would  sing, 

Dear  State  of  progress,  peace,  and  plenty,  all  combined. 

Spring,  Summer,  Autumn  yield  their  golden  stores, 

• 

And  some  new  joys  in  Winter  hours  we  find: 
Then  Christmas  crowns  our  land  with  cheer, 
And  warms  our  hearts  throughout  the  year. 

—  Ad.  //.  Gibson. 


THE  land  of   blizzards,  cyclones,  coyotes  and  humanity; 
therefore,  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

—  Richard  S.  Graves. 


A'AA'SAS   COLLECTION.  ] 

KANSAS    HEROES. 

NOT  best  the  stretching  fields  of  golden  grain, 
The  harvest  plentittide  of  fertile  plain; 
'  T  was  not  for  these  they  struck  the  effectual  blow 
That  broke  the  powTer  of  a  malignant  foe. 
Their  blood  for  Freedom  shed  must  consecrate 

To  human  Liberty  this  sovereign  State. 

—  Allen  D.  Gray. 


SHE  came  a  child,  homeless,  forlorn; 

She  wandered  wild  the  prairies  over, 
Nurtured  by  tossing  winds;  one  morn 

She  rose  a  goddess  with  a  lover. 
A  loving  people  kneel  to  praise 

"Through  hope  to  stars  !"  the  song  they  raise. 

—  Ulary   T.  Gray. 


KANSAS  is  Freedom's  birthplace,  glory's  pathway,  chiv 
alry's  temple,  the  home  of  patriotism.  A  land  whose  bound 
less  plains  and  deathless  waters  have  witnessed  the  dawn  of 
fame.  — Lizzie  B.  Hamrick. 


ABOVE    CRITICISM. 

MY  love,  much  praised,  much  blamed,  grows  moody  quite, 
The  good  words  fail  to  drive  away  the  ill; 

But  Kansas,  blessed,  maligned,  shows  no  affright; 
Instead,  moves  nobly  on,  unruffled  still; 

Serenely  sure,  unminding  wreaths  of  scars, 

Firm-stepped,  she  mounts  her  pathway  to  the  stars. 

—  C/ias.  jMoreau  Harger. 


A'AA'SAS   COLLECTION. 

KANSAS  !  Home  of  the  fair  and  free, 
Accept  the  greeting  of  thy  devotee. 
Noblest  of  republics,  beauteous,  land, 
Shatterer  of  chains,  strong  to  command, 
All  hail !     Uncounted  millions  look  to  thee, 
Sovereign  of  freedom,  truth  and  purity. 

—  Clara  H.  Hazelrigg. 


A  NEW  army  in  emotional  Kansas  carries  plow  handles  for 
rifles,  tyrns  the  school  houses  into  forts,  votes  for  reform,  and 
takes  offices  by  storm.  — Ewing  Herbert. 


As  KNIGHT  of  old,  alone,  before  the  fray, 
Rode  out  to  meet  his  boldest  foe  midway, 
Met,  strove  and  conquered  in  the  army's  sight, 
And  came  with  trophy  worthy  of  the  fight: 
So  thou,  my  State,  return,  thy  Leader  greet, 
And  lay  a  broken  wine  glass  at  His  feet. 

—  Hat  tie  Homer. 


A  GODDESS  born  of  hero  pains,  free,  wise, 

Full  armored.     With  the  war  cry  "Ad  Astra  per  Aspera" 

On  her  lips,  she  bounded  into  Statehood  ! 

Her  most  loyal  son,  Governor  John  A.  Martin, 

Fitted  this  legend  of  Minerva's  birth  to  Kansas: 

Never  fitter  simile  nor  more  fit  eulogist. 

—  Mrs.  J.  K.  Hudson. 


KANSAS   COLLECTION.  j^c 

IN  eighteen  hundred  sixty-one,  when   manly  cheeks  turned 

pale, 

To  give  thee  Freedom's  glorious  birth  our  Nation  did  travail. 
Four  hundred  by  two  hundred  miles  thy  fertile,  rolling  plain; 
More  than  a  million  outstretched  hands  to  glean  thy  golden 

grain; 

Eight  thousand  and  nine  hundred  schools,  where  knowledge 

we  acquire; 
Three  thousand   forty   churches   call:    "O  Kansas,  look  up 

—  Tirzah  A.  Hoyland. 


FAIR,  sunny  State  !   Endowed  at  birth 
With  attributes  of  sterling  worth, 
Enthusiasm,  loyalty  to  right, 
Courage  and  zeal  to  cope  with  might, 
Baptized  in  blood,  her  nature  still 
To  down  the  wrong  with  sovereign  will. 

—  Mary  A.  Humphrey. 


THE   THIRTY-FOURTH   STAR. 

AMIDST  the  gathering  gloom,  around  our  Nation's  flag, 

There  arose  its  fairest  star  above  the  sea  of  wrong, 
A  brilliant,  radiant  gem  that  shall  forever  shine, 
The  brightest  diadem  among  the  starry  throng, 
And  in  its  upward  course  to  freedom  and  to  right, 
E'en  nations  turn  to  watch  its  glorious  flight. 

—  Alary  E.  Jackson. 


146  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

AN   ACROSTIC. 

KANSAS  !  Fair  State,  we  well  may  claim 

A  meed  of  praise  for  thee; 
None  other  boasts  so  great  a  fame, 

So  grand  a  history, 
As  through  oppressions,  strifes  and  wars 

She  soars  triumphant  to  the  stars. 

—  Maggie  Kiltm 


FULL  thirty  years  I've  known  thee, 

Thou  land  of  wondrous  growing; 
Choicest  center  from  the  sea, 

Thy  great  wealth  outward  flowing, 
Fills  the  earth  with  happiness, 

While  untold  more  we're  showing. 
Shall  we  pride  in  thee  confess  ? 

Yea:  swear  eternal  loving, 

—  Sam.  Kimble. 


HERE  first  my  boyhood  days  were  passed 

Beneath  the  sunflower's  cluster; 
Let  strangers  chide  her  if  they  win, 

I  surely  still  shall  trust  her. 
Let  ingrates  wander  far  and  wide, 

From  Madrin  to  Matanzas, 
But  win  or  k>se,  I  '11  stand  my  hand, 

For  aye  in  bonnie  Kansas. 


-E.  C.  Little. 


R'AATSAS   COLLECTION. 


147 


THE  wretched  slave,  whose  galling  chains  the  gods 
Dared  not  to  break,  turned  in  his  mute  despair 

To  Kansas,  and  she  struck  for  him  a  blow 
That  swelled  into  a  universal  prayer, 

Till  o'er  the  tomb  of  Slavery  rose  the  star 

Of  Freedom,  shining  through  the  clouds  of  war  ! 

—  Will.  Lisenbee. 


KANSAS,  like  thy  favorite  flower, 
Has  thy  race,  thus  far,  been  run ; 

Morning,  evening,  finds  thee  facing 
Towards  the  right's  progressive  sun. 

—  Sol.  T.  Long. 


ONE  is  at  times  tempted  to  call  Kansas,  "Dryasdust !"  At 
any  rate,  like  that  worthy,  she  has  introduced  to  the  world 
some  notable  personages.  — Mrs.  E.  S.  E.  Loc 


oonns. 


KANSAS    IN    SIX    VERSES. 

THE  State  where  sudden  Death  on  Hope  advances, 

And  Faith  in  rains  and  crops  hops  all  the  chances; 

Where  Politics  is  pierced  with  lunging  lances, 

As  forth  to  vote  the  frisky  Farmer  prances; 

Where  now  the  "Money  Bug"  withdraws  his  glances, 

And  leaves  the  Wind  to  funny,  sunny  Kansas. 

—  Joel  Moody. 


KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

IF  all  the  States  were  stars 

And  woven  in  a  crown, 
And  as  a  mark  of  excellence 

On  Nature's  brow  were  bound, 
Kansas  with  a  radiance  bright 
Would  from  the  very  topmost  height 

Eclipse  the  light  of  all. 

—  W.  A.  McCansland. 


OLD  Sol,  from  his  majestic  height, 

While  viewing  States,  was  asked  to  choose 
That  one  where  man  could  happiest  dwell. 

He  scanned  them  well, .than  stopped  to  muse, 
When  Kansas  passing — "There!"  he  cried, 
"Choose  Kansas  and  you'll  nothing  lose." 

—  "  Monnie  Moore' 


SON,  you  are  in  Kansas  and  literature,  the  best  State  and 
vocation  in  the  wide  world.  If  still  unsatisfied,  what  do  you 
want  —  the  earth  ?  _  Tom.  P.  Morgan. 

'  KANSAS,  how  sublime  thy  story, 
Crowning  of  a  nation's  glory; 

• 

First  in  all  our  hearts  forever; 
First  the  slave's  cursed  bonds  to  sever; 
With  thy  temperance  banner  o'er  us, 
Bright  the  future's  sheen  before  us. 

—  Laura  E.  Newell. 


A'AA'SAS   COLLECTION. 


149 


DRENCHED  with  impetuous  martyr  blood  she  stands, 

A  nation's  pride  —  the  weeping  cynosure 
Of  all  the  world.      Deflowered  by  ruthless  hands, 
Defamed,  dishonored,  'reft  of  all  that 's  pure, 
To  rise  a  spotless  monument,  at  last, 
For  all  the  future  and  to  all  the  past. 

—  Albert  Bigeloiv  Paine. 


SIXG  a  song  for  Kansas!  be  sure  to  boil  it  down; 

I  know  the  happy  sunflower  maid  is  sometimes  known   to 

frown; 

She  goes  for  prohibition,  and  goes  for  Ingalls,  too: 
Without  her  lengthy  senator,  what  would  poor  Kansas  do  ? 
She  owns  a  small  Alliance,  but  it  hasn't  come  to  stay; 
I'll  tell  you  more  about  it  some  other  sunny  day. 

—  Ellen  Patton. 


CHILD  of  the  grassy  plain, 

Facing  the  day, 
Blooming  in  sun  or  rain, 

Evermore  gay, 
Coming  the  first  to  bless 
Wide-spreading  wilderness, 
Flaunting  and  free, 

Coming  in  power, 
Kansas  is  like  to  thee, 
Sunflower. 

—  Koble  L.  Prentis. 


1 50  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

I  HAVE  known  Kansas  thirty-one  years,  as  a  Territory  and 
as  a  State,  in  war  and  in  peace,  in  famine  and  in  plenty,  and 
I  have  never  known  a  man  who  trusted  and  believed  in  her, 
and  in  evil  times  waited  and  hoped  for  better,  who  was  disap 
pointed  or  deceived.  Those  who  have  known  Kansas  longest 
love  her  most.  —  Caroline  E.  Prentis. 


KANSAS  is  the  Nation's  political  experiment  farm.  Re 
forms  admitted  to  be  desirable,  but  of  doubtful  practicability, 
are  first  tried  in  Kansas.  If  they  fail  here,  the  experiment  is 
carried  no  farther.  —Chas.  F.  Scott. 


PAUPER  or  king  —  as  up  and  down  swift  slips 
The  mercury  of  chance.     Or,  bud  to  rose, 
And  then  a  withered  stem,  all  in  a  day  ! 
Is't  strange,  when  empty-pursed  and  petal  bare, 
We  love  thee  most  ?     For,  without  warning  note, 
In  walks  the  king;  the  bush  is  full  of  blooms  ! 

—  IV.  If.  Si»ifsi>n. 


KISMET. 

A  WORD  doth  make  our  destiny.     We  bravely  said 
Ad  astra,  when  the  night  engulfed  our  martyred  dead; 
And  when  the  morning  flushed  the  pallid  eastern  sky, 
Our  chosen  character  was  registered  on  high. 

—  Florence  L.  Suoiu. 


KAA'SAS   COLLECTION.  ^ 

THINE  is  the  land  where  the  swift  flying  shadows 

Wander  at  will  o'er  monotonous  plains; 
Kiss  the  fresh  blossoms  that  spangle  the  meadows 

And  sail  o'er  seas  of  voluptuous  grains. 
Dear  are  thy  chidings  and  sweet  thy  caresses, 

Tender  thy  eyes  where  the  warm  lovelight  broods; 
Bright  is  the  sunlight  amid  thy  soft  tresses, 

Loving  thy  heart,  but  inconstant  thy  moods. 

—  Geo.  C.  S perry. 


I  LOVE  thee,  home  land,  when  I  pass 

In  western  wilds,  through  wind-tossed  grass; 

And  yet  more  dearly  when  I  spy 

Thy  rosy  children  romping  by; 

But  yet  of  all  I  count  this  best  — 

Thy  moral  honor,  east  and  west. 

—  Mrs.  L.  E.   Thrope. 


KANSAS THERE  SHE  STANDS. 

OUT  of  a  motionless  ocean  of  sand, 

Whose  petrified  billows  stretched  far  to  the  west, 
Kansas  sprang  up  like  an  enchanted  land, 
With  wealth  more  than  many  a  king  can  command, 
Where  civilization's  first  favors  expand, 
Pork  packers,  pap,  passes  and  poets  on  hand  — 

Who  says  that  our  State  is  not  wondrously  blessed  ? 

—  Will.  A.   White. 


152  KANSAS   COLLECTION. 

OF  all  the  States,  but  three  shall  live  in  story: 
Old  Massachusetts  with  her  Plymouth  Rock, 
And  old  Virginia  with  her  noble  stock, 

And  sunny  Kansas  with  her  woes  and  glory; 

These  three  will  live  in  song  and  oratory. 
While  all  the  others  with  their  idle  claims 
Will  only  be  remembered  as  mere  names. 

—  £.  F.  ll'.j 


THE  most  remarkable  thing  about  Kansas,  from  '54  to  '91, 
has  been  its  courage  and  moral  leadership.    — D.  IV.  Wilder. 


A     000718102     7 


